


Blood of the Dragon [Rewrite]

by HouseNaelgyreon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Astapor, Canon Rewrite, Death, Dragons, Drama, Duty before love, Essos, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Kings & Queens, Lord of Light - Freeform, Love, M/M, Meereen, Pro-Daenerys, Pro-Sansa, R Plus L Equals J, Redemption, Royalty, Sacrifice, Sansa gets a redemption arc, Self-Sacrifice, Tragedy, True Love, Volantis, War, Westeros, Westerosi Politics, Yankai, dragonlord
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 73,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25479223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseNaelgyreon/pseuds/HouseNaelgyreon
Summary: When Daenerys Targaryen arrives at Winterfell, she hopes the North will welcome as their greatest ally against the Army of the Dead. After all, Daenerys is risking not only her life but that of her people. Instead, they greet the Dragon Queen with stony silence and hate-filled eyes.Yet, Daenerys tries to grin and bear it, no matter how many insults are tossed her way or her people disrespected; her love for Jon is her guiding light.But when the Army of the Dead is defeated, the next step must be chosen, and a bitter truth comes to the Dragon Queen: Westeros is not her home. Rather than allow herself to be used by those who hate her, Daenerys declares she’ll return to her real kingdom. Rather than abandon the woman he loves, Jon goes with her, abdicating in favor of his sister.Initially glad to see her back, the North quickly discovers that two great dangers still lurk: Cersei and greater, darker magic rising in the mysterious Frostfang Mountains. Forced to flee to the only person that might give them aid, but after getting burned once the Dragon Queen isn't so forgiving this time...
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Grey Worm/Missandei, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Original Character(s)
Comments: 554
Kudos: 692





	1. I. The North

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> So, after some thinking, I've decided to rewrite/edit BLOOD OF THE DRAGON. I saw several plot holes, as well as character interactions that needed fixing. Also, I wouldn't say I liked where the story was going and hated that I felt no desire to write it. I don't believe in abandoning workes, so I decided to rewrite/fix my story rather than leave it.
> 
> That being said, the overall story will be the same with some fundamental changes, some big and some small. I won't spoil what'll happen in the story, but know that I believe you're going to like it. I won't say the fate of certain characters and don't believe all that the description is telling you. Just because it says WERE certain characters would end up, doesn't mean the road there will be easy.
> 
> So happy to be back, and I will try and upload a new chapter every week!
> 
> Toodles!

Ice bit into the Northern Boy’s toes as his feet splashed in a half-frozen puddle, sending the muddy slosh against his breeches and boots. Small clouds of cold exited his mouth as he breathed, but the Boy knew that he could not stop.

He had to see Them.

Shoving people aside and running as fast as he could, the Boy would see it, the mark of the Winter’s Road; it was so close! People were already assembled on either side of the road, blocking the Boy from seeing because of his short stature.

_‘Other’s curse me not being tall enough!’_ the Boy bitterly thought to himself.

He tried jumping up and down to peer over their heads, but the Boy could only see the tips of spears marching by in perfect formation. The Boy’s eyes look franticly around, desperate to see the army that’s marching by, and then he sees it, a nearby tree. Scrambling up the thick trunk, the Boy braces himself among the branches, now he has the best view of the people below.

Endless lines of men dressed in furred black armor and strange-looking helmets walked in uniform formation. Their spears are held high, their shields in front of them. Among their ranks were men with copper skin and hairy faces, dressed in thick furs riding on horseback. These horsemen held weapons that the Boy had never seen before, bizarre curved swords that looked dangerous.

These lines stretched out for as far out as the eye could see, black lines of soldiers marching towards a distant Winterfell.

_‘They’re here,’_ the Boy thought. _‘Our savors.’_

Then, the Boy saw a flash of silver hair.

The silver hair was on the head of a woman dressed in black and red furs, her horse’s coat the same as her hair. At the side was a man with dark-brown hair, he too was dressed in thick furs, but it was more brown, the same color as his horse.

The Boy knew who the brown-haired man was. It was his King, Jon Snow, of course. But the Boy’s heart quickened as he watched the Silver Lady ride by, transfixed by how beautiful she was. She didn’t look to be that old, the Boy figured, yet he had heard the whispers in Wintertown.

_‘She’s a witch,’_ some people had said.

_‘An outsider, we shouldn’t trust her!’_

_‘Mad King’s Daughter! Mad King’s Daughter!’_ was the most common phrase.

That woman had to be Daenerys Targaryen, daughter of the Mad King.

The Boy knew the Mad King was a bad man, yet surely his daughter couldn’t be, right? After all, she had brought her armies to help them defeat the Dead; at least that was what the Boy had heard.

The dead were rising and were marching to kill them all. The Silver Lady was their only hope.

The Silver Lady looked quite confident on her horse, her back was straight in the saddle, and she smiled at them. The Boy considered waving to her, doing something to catch her attention. That smile just drew him in, it made him want to do anything to make her happy, yet the silence and stony faces of the people around him are what stopped the Boy.

The people watching the Silver Lady and Jon Snow were silent and stiff. They said nothing, didn’t move; they …stood there.

The Boy thought that perhaps it was because of the threat that loomed over them, maybe that was why no one smiled or waved. After all, the Dead walked among them, and they needed to plan how to defeat them.

Suddenly a great roar filled the air.

Everyone’s eyes went to the flies, horror filling them as two massive figures flew among the clouds.

Panic erupted.

Northern men, women, and children all scrambled to find a place to hide at the sight of the creatures. The sound of the roar terrified the Boy, freezing him inside the tree branches.

_‘Dragons.’_

That’s what those creatures were.

The Silver Lady had brought living, breathing dragons to Winterfell!

The Boy watched as the Northerner’s continued to run and hide, although the people serving under the Silver Lady did not seem bothered. They ignored the dragons and kept marching.

When the dragons roared again, the Boy finally hurried to get down from the tree and ran in the direction the dragons were flying too: Winterfell.

Inside the high walls of the castle, Sansa Stark’s heart froze within her chest as she took in the sight of dragons flying over her home.

The Lady of Winterfell took a shaky breath to steady herself as the realization of what was about to happen came upon her. She was about the meet the daughter of the man who had murdered her Uncle and Grandfather.

_‘Mother would roll in her grave if she knew that I was allowing this,’_ Sansa thought, her blue eyes resting on the black figures growing ever so closer. _‘That I’d allow -_ Jon _\- to do this… But I have no choice. I need the Dragon Queen…but that does not mean I have to trust her.’_

The ride to Winterfell had been long for Daenerys Targaryen.

Riding on horseback wasn’t the problem for Daenerys. As a Khaleesi, she was used to spending long hours in the saddle. What made the trip long and hard was how careful they had to be.

The trip to White Harbor had taken longer than expected, as they didn’t know where Euron’s fleet was. Nor did they know where Cersei’s armies might be, even though the Lannister Queen had said she’d join them in their fight against the dead. In the back of Daenerys’s head, she knew this all might be a trap, to rather than taking a month and a half, it took them almost three.

But what made the trip easier to tolerate was Jon.

Every night on that ship, they spent in each other’s arms, each night more wonderful than the last. Every night on the march to Winterfell, Jon joined her in her tent, her Dothraki and Unsullied guards looking the other way.

As long as she was with Jon, Daenerys could forget her titles and her responsibilities. With him, Daenerys felt like she was just a normal woman, and he was a normal man.

However, the closer they got to Winterfell, the most distant Jon became. He stopped sharing her tent as frequently, coming every other night, then coming only three times a week, then only once. Jon explained that it was for appearances only, and he would find ways to be with her, but their time together wasn’t half what it used to be. Jon was still passionate, loving, but he always left before sunrise. Then, on Winter’s Road to Winterfell, their intimate relationship became virtually nonexistent. Jon all but ignored her, but Daenerys believed it was because he was busy overseeing their trek to his home.

Now that they were almost to Winterfell, Daenerys felt as if Jon would continue to give her the cold shoulder. At least… she hoped he wouldn’t.

Daenerys had held her head high as her armies marched down the Winter’s Road, traveling to Jon’s home castle. As people lined the road, the Dragon Queen thought they would clap and cheer. After all, she was coming here for them. But no, they just stared at her in frozen silence.

This confused Daenerys.

She had come to the North for them. She had come to the North to help them against the armies of the Dead. Daenerys had stopped her campaign against the hated Cersei Lannister to help save the world. And yet the men, women, and children she was here to help only stared at her with silence and… perhaps a little hate.

“I warned you,” Jon whispered to her as they rode alongside each other. “Northerners don’t much trust Outsiders.”

Daenerys said nothing and tried to smile at the people, hoping that would stir them. She wasn’t expecting them to worship at her feet or anything, but she did want…something.

As if sensing her conflicting emotions, Drogon roared in the skies above. The Northerner’s all screamed, scrambling to run and hide from the massive beasts that claimed the skies.

Daenerys couldn’t help but smile at that.

At least her Children were there for her. She could trust their support. Well, Daenerys had other supporters as well, but at least her dragons wouldn’t turn on her if something caught their fancy.

She remembered the one-time Drogon had snapped at her, it had frightened her, yes, but never again had she done that. Daenerys chalked it up to ‘teenage dragon nonsense,’ but she knew that dragons could never be fully tamed. She was going to have to keep them on a tight leash during their stay.

_‘The last thing I want is the charred bones of another child placed at my feet,_ Daenerys thought. _‘I need to keep my Children close and in control.’_

As the outline of Winterfell loomed overhead, Daenerys took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She had arrived.


	2. II. Winterfell is Yours Your Grace

Men carrying the grey and white Stark banners rode into the central courtyard of Winterfell, clearing a path. Behind them marched two Unsullied warriors, both carrying the red and black banners of House Targaryen.

Sansa’s blue eyes fastened upon the dragon banners, the young woman unable to help but wonder what her parents would think _. ‘Father welcomed King Robert into our home with open arms, but then again, Robert was his friend. I will get through this, and I will wear my mask and hide my thoughts for Jon’s sake.’_

As if summoned by magic, Jon appeared just as Sansa thought of him. Her brother looked every inch a King, riding head held high upon his brown stallion. It took all in Sansa not to rush to him again, not fling herself into his arms in relief. He was back home, where he belonged.

Not far from where Sansa stood sat Bran in his wheeled chair.

Dressed warmly in furs, his hands crossed simply over his lap. Bran gazed at Jon with a relaxed expression. Rather than going to his younger brother calm and collected, Jon urged his horse faster. A Northern man took the reins of his horse as Jon jumped down from the animals’ back, rushing to his brother with a beaming smile.

Behind him, Daenerys was helped from her horse by one of her bloodriders, the Dragon Queen watching as Jon pressed a kiss to his brother’s temple.

“Look at you,” Jon said, tears of joy shining in his eyes. “You’re a man.”

“Almost,” Bran replied.

The smile on Jon’s face slowly died as he gazed into the eyes of his brother. At least Jon thought that this was his brother.

This… this person looking back at him looked like Bran, but he seemed so… so… so distant. Jon remembered the Bran of the past would have leaped up and down with joy to see him, but now, he just looked at Jon with a blank, passive expression.

Sensing Sansa watching him out of the corner of her eye, Jon stood the embrace his sister. Sansa put on her brightest, warmest smile as she wrapped her arms around Jon, hugging him tightly. While Jon closed his eyes in her embrace, Sansa’s blue eyes were on the woman standing behind him.

_So, this was the infamous Daenerys Targaryen. The so-called ‘Mother of Dragons.’_

The woman stood between Jorah Mormont and a man with olive skin dressed in black armor. Around her were men wearing matching outfits, and Sansa knew from their body language that they were tense, ready to protect ‘their Queen’ at the first sign of danger.

Sansa looked to Daenerys’s violet eyes, trying to find some hidden evil or slyness, but it could not be seen. The Targaryen Queen stood calmly between her guards, her hands crossed in front of her, a small smile upon her lips. Daenerys had a cocky air about her, that could easily be seen, but there wasn’t any radiating evil that Sansa could see…at this moment.

“Where’s Arya?” Jon asked.

Sansa blinked, her train of thought broken at the sound of her brother’s voice. “You know her,” Sansa finally said, still looking at Daenerys. “Lurking somewhere.”

Jon chuckled to himself, then followed her line of sight.

Daenerys was standing next to Jorah, allowing the Stark siblings to catch up. When Jon turned to her, she briefly looked to Jorah before taking a deep breath and walking forward.

She moved with a calculated slowness, rather than rushing to join Jon and his sister. Daenerys was a Queen, she was the person in charge here, although she would be respectful to Jon and his family.

Sansa Stark was a pretty young woman, Daenerys had to admit. Her red hair was a sight to behold, as red a carrot or burning coals. Although her small mouth was upturned into the tiniest of smiles, Sansa’s eyes told Daenerys how the Northern Lady was feeling.

Daenerys would see the suspicion inside those eyes, along with a lot of mistrust, and knew where most of it had come from. Wild stories crafted on this side of the Narrow Sea by the Usurper to make her look bad. Daenerys just hoped that Jon wouldn’t be turned. Daenerys ignored the glacial stares of the Northern Lords and Ladies as she stood next to Jon. Everyone was studying her, watching her, waiting for her to make the strong move.

_‘I am the Blood of the Dragon,’_ Daenerys told herself as she lifted her chin. _‘I am the Blood of the Dragon.’_

Jon cleared his throat, knowing he had to speak sooner or later. “Allow me to introduce Her Grace, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, formally. Please allow me to introduce you to my sister, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell.”

Daenerys ignored the lack of a crusty or even a bob of acknowledgment from Sansa as she crossed her hands before her, smiling with genuine warmth. “Thank you for inviting us into your home, Lady Stark. The North is as beautiful as your brother claimed.”

That wasn’t a lie, Daenerys couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the land. While she was used to sand and heat, this frozen water called snow did have an ethereal look. This was also the home of Jon, her true love, and if Jon could love it, then Daenerys believed she could as well.

Sansa’s tiny smile grew only a slight amount as she listened to Daenerys speak. She didn’t know what to say at the moment, what to think. Part of her wondered if this Targaryen Queen was saying this to be kind, but her eyes told the opposite. The warmth was genuine, as were her words, but that didn’t mean Sansa would roll over and be her friend. This was the daughter of the man who had killed her uncle and grandfather. Sansa had grown up listening to horror stories of Mad King; these were crimes that Sansa could neither forgive nor forget. Yet, Sansa could not rail against this woman. She needed her and her armies… for now, at least.

“Thank you,” Sansa finally said, as a proper lady should. “Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.”

Daenerys smiled even brighter, she looked to Jon briefly before turning back to Sansa, her mouth opening to thank the young woman, but a small voice in a chair interrupted her.

“We don’t have time for all this,” Bran said, bluntly.

Daenerys turned her head in the direction of the person who had spoken, confusion on her face. The smile that was on her face began to die with every word he spoke.

“The Night King has your dragon,” Bran continued. “He’s one of Them now. The Wall has fallen. The Dead march South.”

Daenerys’s heart and stomach felt like lead as they dropped to her feet. Breathing became hard as she looked behind her to Jorah, then Missandei, then finally to Jon.

Jon held her gaze, conflicting emotions swirling in his mind as he turned to Bran. “I do believe we should go inside and talk.”

“Yes,” Sansa said lightly, having not missed the looks between the two. “We should.”

* * *

The warmth of the fire was welcome to Daenerys. The Young Queen longed to place her hand among the flames to feel their heat and power sincerely but withheld from doing so. The last thing she needed right now was for the Northerners to believe her to be some sort of witch.

Daenerys, Sansa, and Jon sat at the main table within the Winterfell Great Hall, all the Northern Lords and Ladies were there, as well as the most senior and essential members of Daenerys’s household. An invisible line had been drawn, the Northern side on the left—Sansa’s side—and the people who followed Daenerys upon the right—Daenerys’s side. Only Jon sat in the middle as if he were the great mediator between these two tense parties that could go to war.

Sansa cleared her throat to speak. “As soon as we heard about the Wall, I called all our Banners to retreat to Winterfell. Lord Umber, please step forward.”

Daenerys turned from watching the flames of the fire as a boy, most likely no older than twelve years, slid down from one of the benches on the Northern side.

“When can we expect your people to arrive?” Sansa asked.

Ned Umber paced down the center of the Greathall, coming to a stop a couple of feet from the main table.

“W-We need more horses and wagons,” the child said, barely above a whisper. “If it pleases you, my lady.” He looked to Jon then Daenerys. “And you, My Lord. And…my Queen.”

Daenerys couldn’t stop herself from giving the small boy a smile at his acknowledgment of her.

Children were always her weakness.

No matter who there were, rich or poor, the easiest way to Daenerys’s heart was through a child. However, she noticed that Sansa’s lips tightened into a thin line, and several of the Northern Lords grumbled angrily among themselves.

Daenerys didn’t care. This child was kind to her, and she would repay it when she could.

“You’ll have as many as we can spare,” Sansa ruled. “Although I am not sure at the total amount.”

“Allow me to help then,” Daenerys interrupted.

All eyes turned to her as Daenerys looked for Qhono, the leader of her Dothraki forces. The copper-skinned man rose from his seat on Daenerys’s side, the bells in his hair ringing as he slowly walked to stand at the side of the boy.

“How many horses and carts can we spare?” Daenerys asked in Dothraki.

“However, many you desire, Khaleesi,” Qhono replied.

Daenerys nodded and looked to this Ned Umber, smiling at him once again. “I have told him to give you whatever you need.”

Ned Umber trembled. “T-Ten carts would do well, Your Grace.”

“Then ten carts it shall be,” Sansa interrupted. “Go back to Last Harth and bring your people here.”

Ned Umber nodded and bowed at the waist to Sansa, then Jon, then he smiled at Daenerys and bowed before backing away, followed by his men. Able to breathe more comfortably now, Daenerys left the fire and took her seat, her back straight as an arrow.

“We need to send a raven to the Night’s Watch,” Jon said. “There’s no sense in minding the castles anymore. We’ll make our stand here.”

The links on Maester Ludwin’s chain clinked as he bowed to his King. “At once, Your Grace.”

* * *

“Your Grace?” a sharp voice said on the Northern side.

Daenerys looked in the direction of the voice, her eyes meeting a Northern girl with a scowl upon her lips. She inwardly groaned, she knew this was coming, it’s best it get over and done with. She said nothing as this Northern Girl stood from her bench and walked to the center of the Great Hall, her narrowed eyes upon Jon.

“But you’re not, are you?” the girl asked. “You left Winterfell a King and came back a…” she dramatically shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not sure what you are now. A Lord? Nothin’ at all?”

The Northerner’s all began to murmur louder, nodding as this Girl spoke.

Daenerys had to admit that she was impressed. She wondered who this Girl was, who spoke with courage beyond her years, and held the respect of men more than twice her age, maybe thrice her age. She looked to Tyrion, to Jorah, hoping that one of them might know.

Tyrion was uncomfortable right now, but Jorah… Jorah’s expressions were different. He gazed upon the young Girl with admiration almost, respect as well. Daenerys wondered if it could be because he was from the North, or perhaps it was something closer?

Jon meanwhile shifted uncomfortably in his seat, holding up his hand for silence. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s not important.”

“Not important?” the Girl repeated with a scoff. “We named you, King in the North.”

The Northerner’s ignored Jon’s request for silence and loudly acknowledged their agreement, pounding their fists on the table. Jon looked to Sansa, but his sister didn’t look at him, instead of staring straight ahead before turning to look at him a couple of moments later. While Sansa’s lips said nothing, Jon could read her eyes: she knew this was going to happen. Jon had caused this mess, and he was going to have to clean it up.

“You did,” Jon thundered, his voice rising above all others. “Lady Mormont, you did. It was the honor of my life. I’ll always be grateful for your faith in me.” He stood up, taking command. “But when I left Winterfell, I told you that we needed allies, or we would die. I have brought those allies home, as I promised, to fight alongside us.”

His grey eyes traveled down briefly to Daenerys, staring into those beautiful violet orbs. Jon could get lost forever in them, but he forced himself to tear his gaze away to continue his speech.

“I had a choice,” Jon continued. “Keep my crown, or protect the North. I chose the North. A ruler puts the needs of his people over his own, no matter his desires. Like my ancestor, Torren Stark, I have done what I believe is right. I’m sorry if I offended you, my Lords and Ladies, but I refuse to apologize for what I have done.”

Once again, people began to talk over themselves. The people loyal to Daenerys were nodding in agreement with Jon’s speech, and even some of the Northerners were as well.

Lord Manderly and his people nodded, as were members of the House’s Cerwyn, Tallhart, and Glover. However, several of the other House’s were not so easily convinced, and their thunderous faces spoke of their displeasure.

Daenerys looked to Tyrion for help, hoping her Hand might be able to deescalate the situation as best he could. Tyrion gave her a small nod and pushed his chair back from his table, the Lannister Dwarf walking to stand in the center of the room, clearing his throat for silence.

“If anyone survives the war to come, then you’ll personally have Jon Snow to thank,” Tyrion shouted, rising over all others like the roar of a lion. “Your King risked his life to show us the threat is real. Thanks to his courage, we have brought with us the greatest army the world has ever known. Along with our combined forces, my Queen has brought with her two full-grown dragons, the greatest weapon to use against an ice demon.” He took a deep breath, readying himself for his next words. “And soon, the Lannister army will ride North to join our course.”

Chaos erupted then, men and women arguing over themselves, shouting to be heard.

The Lannister army marching North was a nightmare for everyone in that room, save for the literal undead demons. For all anyone knew, these Lannister’s were coming to murder them all once the dead were defeated, or maybe before.

“I know that our people haven’t always gotten along!” Tyrion shouted. “But we must fight together, or we will die!”

Sansa had been listening to all of this in silence, and finally spoke when she believes Tyrion to be finished.

“Might I ask something?” Sansa asked sweetly. “How are we meant to feed, the greatest army the world’s ever seen?”

Tyrion turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“I insured our stores would last through winter, I didn’t count on…what do you call them again?” Sansa asked. “Oh right, Dothraki, Unsullied, and two fully grown dragons.” She leaned forward in her chair. “What do dragons eat, anyway?”

“Whatever they want,” Daenerys said.

The Dragon Queen had had enough. She listened as Jon and Tyrion had spoken and dealt with the icy stares of the Northern Lords and Ladies. She even was silent with Sansa’s passive, aggressive small-talk, but no more.

Daenerys’s violet eyes turned to the Lady of Winterfell, her gaze hard. “If I recall, your Brother has told me that your winters sometimes last several years. You are telling me, Lady Sansa, that you planned for that but not the chance of my armies coming to your aid?”

Sansa’s face flushed as red as her hair. “I meant no offense, Your Grace. But…”

Daenerys turned back to face the Northerners. “Do not worry about my people. We have brought plenty of food with us, even though we will not be here long. We have so much; I’m sure that we’ll be more than glad to share with you if you do happen to run out.”

Sansa’s lips tightened into an even thinner line. “That’s quite the… offer, Your Grace.”

“Don’t worry about Drogon and Rhaegal either,” Daenerys continued, her tone crisp, yet firm. “My Children know how to behave, they only hunt when they are hungry. Lucky for you, I’ll make sure that’ll never happen.”

Sansa’s face went pale with fury. Typically, she would hold her tongue in situations like this, but she refused to let this… this… outsider, have the last word. “What’s the stop them from ‘hunting’ in the village?”

“Me,” Daenerys replied.

Jon slammed his fist on the table between the two women. “Enough of this,” he barked, his wolf blood coming out. “I do believe that we all should retire for the night. I am sure we’re all tired. In the morning, we can plan our strategy.”

Daenerys rose to her feet, her side of the Great Hall doing the same, although her eyes were on Sansa. “Yes, I do believe that is best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter finished! 
> 
> Edited the grammar, fixed some wording; that kind of thing. Please note, that this is going to be a Sansa redemption arch book, so yes, she's going to be a bit of a bitch for a bit but she's going to get better. At the same time, I plan to dive in deeper to the culture clashes of the two groups, more than I did in the previous version of this book.
> 
> Until next time!


	3. III. Under a Winterfell Moon

Daenerys and Sansa walked side-by-side through the halls of Winterfell. Sansa was half-a-step behind the Targaryen Woman, but she was still leading her. A heavy silence hung between the two women, neither wanted to pretend to be happy to be in the presence of the other, so they said nothing.

Sansa came to a stop in front of a pair of thick double doors and nodded for a Stark servant to open them. “You will be staying here, Your Grace.”

Daenerys looked at inside the massive chamber, much larger than her rooms on Dragonstone. Then again, Daenerys had heard that Winterfell was the oldest, as well as one of the largest castles in Westeros. The insides had been hastily stripped, no doubt, as Daenerys knew that Sansa must have slept there while Jon was gone.

“It’s the Lord of Winterfell’s chambers,” Sansa said in a patronizing tone. “I hope it’ll up to you…royal standards, Your Grace.”

Daenerys forced a smile on her face as she turned to the red-headed woman. “I’m sure that it’ll do perfect, Lady Stark. But you shouldn't have done this. I was fine with the regular chamber."

"Oh no," Sansa remarked. "You're a Queen, so you deserve the best."

Daenerys knew the words were supposed to be barbed at her, so she said, "Thank you.”

“Normally, we hold a feast to celebrate an important guest coming to Westeros,” Sansa said. “But I’m sure that you’ll understand that we do not have it.”

“Of course, I understand,” Daenerys replied. “I have an idea. Why don’t I host a meal for Jon and your siblings to dine in my chambers? You can meet my Small Council, and we can get to know each other.”

Sansa wanted to say no. The words were already on her tongue, but she knew that she couldn’t. The etiquette lessons her mother had drilled into her head, prevented Sansa from refusing this invitation.

“I know Jon would be glad too,” Sansa said, her voice high. “But I’m not sure if Bran will, he… doesn’t eat much now of days. I also don’t know where to find my sister…”

“I don’t mind if it’s just you and Jon,” Daenerys said, still smiling. “I do hope we can become…quite acquainted during my stay.”

“Yes, quite acquainted indeed,” Sansa said.

Silence hung between the two a moment Daenerys turned to Missandei, her closest friend and confidant stepped forward without question.

“This is Missandei,” Daenerys said. “She’s the head of my household as well as my closest friend. If I need anything, she will be the one to talk too.”

“Welcome to Winterfell,” Sansa said to the brown-skinned woman. “Where are… you from?”

“Naath,” Missandei replied shortly, turning to Daenerys. “We will see that everything is set up, Your Grace.”

Daenerys smiled and patted her friend's arm. “Thank you.”

Sansa watched as a small army of servants filed into the chamber: her parent’s chamber, her former chamber. Her stomach was twisting itself into knots as Outsiders entered the room. That was the room she was born in, slept in with her family during winter, played with her siblings, learned how to sew. That chamber had so many memories for Sansa, and now a Foreign Queen and her servants were taking it from her.

Unable to watch anymore, Sansa turned on her heel and walked away. She ignored the Northern Lords and Ladies that sought her out for conversation. There was only one person she needed to talk too right now, and that was Jon.

Jon was unpacking in his new chambers down the hall from the main one. It was the second-largest in the castle, which meant Sansa would have to be given the third, another blow against her. Jon had taken off his thick furs and was still wearing his light armor under it.

“Need help?” Sansa asked.

Jon looked up from one of his crates. “No, it’s alright, I have it. But a raven came earlier with a letter, could you read it for me?”

Sansa picked up the small scroll on the desk and unrolled it, her eyes scanning over the paper. “It’s from Lord Glover. He wishes us good fortune, but he’s staying at his castle.”

Jon’s shoulders sagged as he sighed heavily. The young Lord straightened his back, pinched the bridge of his nose. “What were his words? ‘House Glover would stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years.’ Isn’t that what he said?”

Sansa gripped the letter tightly in her fist. “No, he said that ‘I would stand behind Jon Snow. The King in the North.’”

Jon grit his teeth, hearing her sharp tone. “Not you too… I told you, we needed allies!”

“You didn’t tell me, you were going to abandon your crown,” Sansa snapped.

“And I told you that I never wanted a crown!” Jon argued. “All I’ve ever wanted was to protect the North. I’ve brought two bloody armies! Two bloody dragons!”

“And a Targaryen Queen!” Sansa hissed, leaping to her feet to stand before him.

“Do you think we can beat the Army of the Dead without them?” Jon bellowed. “Without Her? I’ve seen them, Sansa, so has she. We know that danger that looms over us, you don’t. You’ve never seen them! I went North to capture one for her to see, and I got in trouble. She came to help me without a thought of herself!”

Sansa took a deep breath to speak, but Jon wasn’t finished.

“You want to worry about who wears what title, and I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter,” Jon continued. “Without her, we don’t stand a chance!”

A heavy silence fell upon the Stark siblings, and their eyes were narrowed as they stared at each other. Sansa had never seen Jon so riled up about something unless it was in defense of something he cared about.

Something he cared about… Or… someone…

“Do you have faith in me at all?” Jon asked, breaking the silence.

“You know I do,” Sansa said. “It’s just…”

Jon held up his hand for silence. “I’ve watched her Sansa, seen how she interacts with people. Yes, she might be haughty at times, but I know she’ll be a good queen. For all of us. She’s the furthest thing from her Father, Cersei. She’s good, empathetic, and will only show you her bad side if you insult her people or her honor. She's not her Father.”

Sansa took a deep breath, knowing better than to argue with Jon right now. “No…,” she sighed. “She’s much prettier.”

Jon cracked a small smile. “I would hope so…She's not just the Mad King...you know, Sansa. She also has Rhaella Targaryen's blood in her veins, a queen so beloved that only Alysanne could compare."

Sansa looked into his grey eyes. “Jon, tell me something, please, be honest with me.”

“Of course,” Jon said.

“When you bent the knee,” Sansa said slowly. “Did you do it to save the North? Or because you loved her?”

“The former came first,” Jon replied quickly. “She flew to the North to save me. She flew into a danger she didn’t know to save me because she knew it was right. Slowly… the love came. I watched how those who followed her interacted with her. They didn’t serve her because of some forced duty, or she was the daughter of some king they never knew: they chose her.”

“They chose her?” Sansa repeated.

Jon nodded. “Aye. That was what her closest confidant said, ‘She is the Queen we choose.'”

Sansa was silent as she thought over his words. It appears that this Queen was more of a complex figure, then she thought. Sansa originally planned to push this Queen out of power by any means possible, but now that she had such a connected web of supporters around her, it was going to be much more difficult.

“She has invited us to dine with her,” Sansa finally said. “I was going to invite Bran and Arya… but I doubt I could find her, and Bran doesn’t know each much of anything now.”

“What happened to him?” Jon asked.

“He… claims he’s something called the Three-eyed Raven now,” Sansa replied. “I don’t know what it means but his visions… they are true.” She gripped Jon’s arm. “I’m sure you’ve noticed Littlefinger isn’t here anymore?”

“I thought he was just hiding,” Jon remarked.

Sansa shook her head and told Jon everything that had happened in his absence.

* * *

Inside her rooms, Daenerys sighed as she helped up one of her silk dresses. “I doubt I’ll wear this during my stay.”

“You don’t know that,” Missandei replied, watching couple Dothraki handmaids fix the bed. “This winter won’t last that long if we defeat this army of the dead.”

“I still doubt Westeros would allow me to wear something so… loose,” Daenerys said.

“When you’re queen, the fashion will be whatever you want it to be,” Missandei teased. “If you want to sunbathe naked, the other ladies in the country will do it as well!”

Daenerys couldn’t stop her laughter, Missandei joining in. The two women had been through quite a lot together and were closer than most queens and servants would/should be. The only person in the world that Daenerys could be informal with was Missandei.

“What do you want the cooks to make for dinner?” Missandei asked.

Daenerys frowned. “I never… thought of what to serve…”

Missandei tapped her chin. “Why not… give them a taste of Essos? I’m sure this…interesting region doesn’t have much to do in terms of seasons and spices.”

“I doubt they know what a season or spice is,” Daenerys chuckled. “I trust you. I’ll leave it in your hands.”

Missandei bowed with a smile and walked to the Dothraki and Meereenese girls, pointing to a dozen of them to follow her. They walked her down the castle's halls, the Naathi woman following the signs on the walls until she reached the place marked as the kitchen. It was filled to bursting with people, mostly cooks, and servants, all wearing different color livery to match the House’s they served.

“Excuse me?” Missandei called over the loud clang of pots and pans. “Who’s in charge here?”

Silence fell over the kitchen as all eyes turned to the members of Daenerys’s household. Just like their masters, these servants didn’t trust or like this new Dragon Queen, and they made it know when their heated stares.

“I’am,” a fat Northman said, his clothes covered in food and drink stains. “What’ya want wit me?”

“My name is Missandei, and I work for Her Grace, Queen Daenerys,” Missandei said. “My Queen has sent her servants and me to prepare her dinner.”

The Cook scoffed. “I know no king, but the King in the North whose name is Stark. What type of food do ya want?”

“We don’t need your food, we have our own,” Missandei replied. “But rather, just need your pots and pans to cook it in.”

The Cook jerked his thumb in the direction of a small corner in the massive kitchen. “Ya can use that set of pots and pans over there.”

“The fireplace and stove will do perfectly for us,” Missandei said. “Thank you.”

Turning to the Girls that had come with her, Missandei instructed them on what type of dish to cook. The main course would be spiced-honey chicken served with grilled vegetables and boiled eggs coated in butter and spices, laying upon a steamed wild rice bed. For dessert, there were citrus-fire cakes, Daenerys’s favorite sweet. It was a simple, but tasty dish, that she knew Daenerys would love. The Dothraki and Essos maids got to work quickly, showing their mastery in the skill.

As the girls worked through, Missandei noticed that several of the Northern Lord’s servants were watching them. They were smelling the spices and trying to snatch tastes of the leftovers in the pots and pans when Missandei got an idea. She instructed the Servant girls to make small sample plates, which she gave to the Northern servants.

“Tell your lords that these are gifts form Her Grace,” Missandei said. “To give you a taste of her lands beyond the Narrow Sea.”

The Northern servants thanked her profusely as she and the girls left, arriving at Daenerys’s chambers with their miniature feast.

“About time you’re back,” Daenerys sighed. “I was so worried!”

“We were fine,” Missandei chuckled, nodding for the Girl to put the food down on the table. “Come, let me help you dress.”

Daenerys looked through her outfits, unsure what to wear. She wanted to look regal, but she also wanted to tempt Jon. After weeks of not touching her, Daenerys craved him, but she didn’t know if he’d come to her… not this not. She straightened her back. She shouldn’t be moping, if Jon didn’t go to her tonight, then that was on him. She would look every inch a queen, while also being forbidden.

With the help of Missandei, Daenerys looked exactly like that. Over a simple silk sleeping robe, Daenerys wore a much thicker and regal over-dress made of midnight-black wool, with red fur along the neckline and sleeves. Under the dress, for warmth and modesty sake, Daenerys wore a pair of thick tights, although she found such garments restricted. For her hair, Daenerys decided on a simple braid, nothing elaborate like she usually wore.

“Grey Worm and the other commanders are coming, right?” Daenerys asked. “As are Jorah and Tyrion?”

“Lord Tyrion regrets to say that he can not make the meal,” Missandei sighed. “Something about… being challenged by the Northern guards in a drinking contest?”

Daenerys rolled her eyes with a scoff. “One day, I’m going to outlaw wine. I never had a taste for it myself, why can’t they drink other things such as fruit water or cider?”

“When you’re queen, you can do that, Your Grace,” Missandei chuckled, smoothing back a couple of loose strands of hair. “And yes, Grey Worm and the other commanders are coming, as is Lord Jorah.”

Daenerys sighed with a smile. “Good. Good.”

A knock on her chamber door announced the beginning of this political meal, and Daenerys looked at herself one last time in the mirror before nodding to the Meereenese Servant Girl to open the door.

Jorah, Grey Worm, and Qhono stood on the threshold, all three men entering, bowing to their Queen as they waited for her to tell them to rise. Daenerys quickly did so and gave them all warm smiles, although Grey Worm went to Missandei and gave her a small kiss.

“Hopefully, this evening won’t go up in flames,” Jorah joked.

“Lucky for me, I can not burn,” Daenerys replied, the response earning a chuckle from everyone.

There was another knock, and this time when the door was opening, Jon, Sansa, and three other people stood on the threshold. When Daenerys turned, Jon’s heart leaped into his throat at the sight of her beauty. The young Lord forced himself to not groan with desire. She looked regal, like always, but also wonderfully forbidden, which Jon knew Daenerys was doing.

Jon led his group inside the chambers and gave a small bow, Sansa, and the others following suit.

“Welcome,” Daenerys said, clasping her hands in front of her. “I hope you enjoy the meal we have prepared for you tonight.”

“You are too kind, Your Grace,” Jon said, taking her extended hand and kissing it as a gentleman should.

Daenerys was grateful that the flickering candles hid her burning cheeks. Her lover was dressed like a king tonight. Over a simple grey wool shirt, Jon wore a black leather jerkin, the stark sigil upon the collar, tight black breeches, and boots. Sansa was dressed in a simple black dress, and behind her, the members of their party were dressed similarly in outfits of grey and black. Daenerys took note of the young girl with them who had spoken out in the Great Hall, there was also an older man in a large breastplate, and another Northern man.

“Please,” Daenerys said, withdrawing her hand. “Allow me to introduce my commanders formally: This is Grey Worm, the general of my Unsullied. Qhono, the lieutenant of my Dothraki, and Jorah Mormont, the leader of my Meereense soldiers.”

“Jorah Mormont?” Sansa repeated, looking to the girl at her side.

“Hello, Uncle,” the Girl said, crossing her arms. “Never thought I’d see ya on this side of the Narrow Sea.”

Jorah smiled ruefully. “I never thought I’d ever return to Westeros, my Lady Niece.”

“Niece?” Daenerys repeated, confused.

“Lady Lyanna’s mother is my sister,” Jorah explained. “Was, my sister.”

Daenerys nodded, fully explaining why Jorah had that look on his face earlier.

“This is Lord Yohn Royce, Commander of the Knight of the Vale,” Sansa said, introducing the older man. “You have met Lady Lyanna Mormont, our strongest supporter. Lastly, this is Ser Hyland. He is the General of our Northern Armies.”

“It’s an honor to meet you all,” Daenerys said, smiling. “Please, have a seat. I hope you enjoy our food.”

Daenerys sat at one end the table and Jon on the other, and just like in the Great Hall, the invisible battle lands were drawn here. Jon’s people sat closer to him, and Daenerys’s people sat closer to her. The Northerner’s looked at this food in confusion. The smell was different then what they accustomed too, as was the color. In the North, brightly colored objects typically meant something was poisonous, and they refused to touch the food at first.

Jon, however, took his fork and knife and began to eat, Daenerys breathing a sigh of relief.

“This tastes wonderful, Your Grace,” Jon said, accepting a glass of fruit water. “I’ve never had something like this before.”

“Yes, neither have I,” Sansa said, taking the smallest bites of her chicken. “What type of flavor is this…?”

“The spices are from Meereen, but it’s covered in a honey glaze,” Daenerys replied. “It’s a simple dish, but one of my favorites. Missandei jokes I eat it so much that I’ll grow fat.”

“I do not, Your Grace,” Missandei chuckled. “Not openly, anyway.”

The Northerner’s looked at each other in confusion. They were used to their kings and queens being so… aloof with their subjects. They had expected this Targaryen Queen to be haughty, believe herself better than anyone of them; this familiarity was a shock to them all.

“What type of name is Grey Worm?” Lord Royce asked, turning to Grey Worm.

“Unsullied are given different names every day of their servitude,” Missandei explained. “It’s… to make them feel as if they are less than, nothing more than slaves.”

“But Queen Daenerys allows us to change our names to whatever we choose, when she freed us,” Grey Worm interrupted, speaking the Common Tongue slowly.

“So, why not change it?” Sansa asked. “If you were free?”

“Because, it was the name, that This One chose, when his Queen freed him and his people,” Grey Worm replied.

“Slavery is still legal in Essos,” Daenerys said. “At least… it was until I conquered Slaver’s Bay. Now, no man, woman, or child will be forced to wear chains.”

“You freed slaves?” Lyanna asked.

Daenerys nodded. “I gave them the option to choose: stay with me and help me rebuild their nations, or they could leave, and I’d give them money to do wherever they desired.”

“So, you ride dragons, free slaves and conquer cities,” Lord Royce remarked.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Sansa mumbled under her breath, taking a sip of wine.

Daenerys said nothing and instead turned back to her food.

Jon glared at his sister. “Sansa, that wasn’t very nice.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said dramatically.

The rest of the dinner went quickly, for which Daenerys was grateful. They all made small talk, but the awkward tension was still quite thick in the air. It had to be around midnight when the table was cleared, and when Daenerys stood to signify the end of the meal, everyone looked relieved.

“Thank you for having us, Your Grace,” Jon said, bowing. “It was night. I’m sure we’ll never forget.”

“You’re welcome,” Daenerys said. “I bid you goodnight, all of you.”

Sansa and Lady Mormont curtsied while Lord Royce and Ser Hyland bowed, the four of them following Jon out of the room.

* * *

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Missandei asked.

The two women sat in Daenerys’s bedchamber, the Dragon Queen preparing to go to bed. Daenerys looked at her friend, her violet eyes beginning to fill with unfallen tears. Tonight was… a tense evening, and once again, that feeling of loneliness swept over her. She didn’t want these people to worship her, but she wanted some… some type of respect; was that too difficult to ask? She had risked her life, her dragons, and now her people to help them, and yet all she felt was hate.

Then there was Jon…

Closing her eyes, Daenerys covered her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling as she quietly began to sob.

“What’s this…?” a familiar voice whispered soothingly behind her. “What’s with all the tears?”

Daenerys opened her eyes and found the grey orbs of Jon staring into her violet. Quickly she stood up, her breath catching in her throat. “Jon…”

Jon reached out, his large hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I hope you are not sobbing because of me.”

“No,” Daenerys said quickly, rubbing her eyes. “It’s not… It’s not like that. How… how did you get in here?”

Jon gave her a wicked smile. “Winterfell is the oldest castle in the realm. Growing up, I remembered my father showing me the various secret tunnels and passageways. This is the Lord of Winterfell’s chambers, after all.”

Daenerys’s heart leaped to reach the clouds, and before she could stop herself, she pressed her lips to his. Jon’s fiery kisses ignited the fire within her groin, a fire that Daenerys worried would burn out. His hands went to her dress, yanking at the ribbons, tearing them to get the silk off the body he worshiped.

“Wait…” Daenerys whispered between kisses. “M-M-Missandei…”

“Left the moment she saw me,” Jon revealed, pushing the silken gown off her shoulders.

Jon stepped backward, his eyes darkening with desire as her bare body became visible to him. Bending down, Jon lifted Daenerys in his arms and carried her to the bed, yanking the sheets back and laying her among the blankets. He pulled his shirt over his heart, tossing it to the side, he kicked off his boots before joining her. Jon pressed his lips back to his lovers', their tongues dancing as Daenerys fumbled briefly with his belt and untied his breeches, finally getting him close.

The moment Jon’s cock entered her body, the couple moaned deeply in unison. After so long, once again, their bodies had been joined together as one.

Daenerys’s head tilted back with pleasure as Jon began to move, his strokes deep and deliberate. Jon took the opportunity to latch onto her neck, his teeth scraping her white throat as he gripped the bed under them. Daenerys’s breathing quickened, her nails dug into his muscular back, red marks appearing on the skin as her moans urged him deeper, faster.

Gripping her waist, Jon rolled them over so that she was on top, remembering how much Daenerys loved to be in control. Her hips moved with the fluidity of a dancer, her breasts bouncing before his eyes. Reaching out, Jon gripped one of Daenerys’s breasts, gently massaging the pink nipple between his fingers. Sitting up in the bed, he began to thrust up into his lover, bouncing Daenerys in his lap, pressing his lips back to hers.

“J-Jon…” Daenerys panted, feeling the pressure building within her groin. “I… I have too…”

Jon rolled them back over so that he was back on top, slowing his thrusts. “I know…” he said with a deep groan. “So… So, do I… but not yet…”

Leaning down, Jon pressed his lips back to Daenerys’s, his muscles rippling as he made love to her. Anyone could fuck, but only a rare few could make love, at least that was what Daenerys believed, and Jon was one of those precious few. She had been fucked before—Daario, Drogo—but neither man make love to her; only Jon did, and that was why she loved him, and only him.

Jon’s pace quickly began to pick up again, the Northern Lord wanting to bring his lover to her release. It wasn’t hard for Daenerys to reach her peak, her back arching as her head tossed back with a gasp. Jon’s body tensed as he pushed into her deep, uttering a low groan as he poured into her before collapsing. They were both covered in sweat, but Jon wrapped his arms around Daenerys nonetheless, pulling her close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” Daenerys asked.

“Everything,” Jon replied. “Ignoring you, letting Sansa talk to you like that… she’s… um…”

“I understand,” Daenerys said, smoothing back his hair. “She’s going to have to get to know me…”

“She’s overprotective, and I’ve spoken to her about this,” Jon said firmly, intertwining their fingers. “No one is going to take me from you. No matter what, I love you, Daenerys Targaryen, for now, and forever.”

Pulling her close, Jon pressed his lips back to hers, positioning himself on top of her, the couple making up from the lost time.

Meanwhile, in the corner of the room sat the small bundles of linens that Daenerys used when her moonblood came upon her. However, for the last two moon cycles—the length of time for the trip from Dragonstone to Winterfell—the linens had been unused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the battle lines have been drawn in the sand! This chapter didn't change much, but I did had a couple of lines of dialog between Jon and Sansa. We're still pretty early in the story, but the more exciting stuff is coming!!
> 
> I'd love to hear what you guys thought of this chapter!
> 
> Toodles!


	4. IV. Gold within the Harpy’s Claws

Cersei Lannister watched from the central balcony of the Red Keep as the black, gold, and red sails of Euron Greyjoy came into view.

“The trip from Essos took longer than I thought,” Cersei remarked to her Hand, Qyburn.

“Indeed it did, Your Grace,” the disgraced Maester said. “However, I assume that the man will want some reward, now that he’s done this.”

Cersei tried not to roll her eyes or grimace in disgust.

Euron Greyjoy was many things, but her lover was the last thing she desired of him.

_‘Still, though,’_ she thought. _‘I’m going to have to figure out a way to keep him interested… The only reason he’s with me is because the Dragon Whore has that wolf-bastard as her pet.’_

The thought of lovers made Cersei’s hand go briefly to her stomach. It was still virtually flat, thankfully, but Cersei knew any day now it would begin to swell.

Three months had already passed, and Cersei was nearing her fourth. Her mind went to her previous pregnancies, and Cersei remembered that she never actually began to show until she was in her fourth or fifth month. All of her babies were relatively small yet healthy.

Cersei’s lip quivered ever so briefly at the thought of her children and how they were stolen.

First, Joffrey was murdered by that Rose Bitch. Then her sweet Myrcella was murdered by those Snake Whores. Then Tommon abandoned her after she blew up his ‘beloved’ wife. Cersei didn’t see what the fuss was about anyway for that last little problem. Margery was nothing to them, yet Tommon loved her than his mother; so logically, she had to go.

“Make sure that Euron is shown into the throne room, as soon as he arrives,” Cersei commanded.

Qyburn bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Cersei turned from the balcony and walked back into the Red Keep, these empty, quiet halls.

She remembered when these same halls were filled with laughter and music. She remembered when nobles from all over Westeros came rushing to her, begging for her favor. She remembered when she was spoiled and petted, people going out of their way to appease her. Not anymore.

Now the nobility in Westeros hid in their castles, hiding from either her or this absurd threat from the North.

Cersei didn’t care what the Wolf Bastard and his Dragon Whore did up North, let them freeze their asses in that wasteland. If they were killed, good for her, if they weren’t, then her Golden Company would make the killing for her. Either way, it was a win/win situation.

_‘How do you like me now, Father?’_ Cersei thought bitterly. _‘I’m the one who carries on our legacy, not the sons you thought would do so.’_

Cersei stopped at the base of the Iron throne, her throne. No… this wasn’t right. She wouldn’t be here alone. There would be someone next to her, the only person worthy of being at her side: Jaime.

Jaime was her lover, her other half, and he, too, had betrayed her for that Dragon Whore.

_‘If Euron ever captured her, I’ll let the Mountain have his fun with her,’_ Cersei thought bitterly. _‘Then, after he’s satisfied, I’ll give what’s left of her to Qyburn to experiment on. Her people claim they are so-called ‘blood of the dragon.’ Perhaps Qyburn will see how special her blood is.’_

The sound of nearing footsteps made Cersei hurry up the stairs of the dais and sit on the throne, straightening her back as Qyburn lead in Euron and a golden-haired man that Cersei did not know.

The golden-haired man was quite handsome, Cersei thought. Much better looking than Euron would ever hope to be. He looked like a warrior, and the fire in his blue eyes reminded Cersei of a young Jaime.

“Allow me to introduce Commander Harry Strickland,” Qyburn said, gesturing to the man. “And of course, Your Grace knows of Lord Euron Greyjoy.”

Euron Greyjoy and this Harry Strickland both bowed deeply, although Cersei saw a hunger within Euron’s eyes.

She forced herself to not groan in disgust and instead kept her face calm and regal. “Welcome to Westeros. I trust the journey was not too difficult.”

“We are soldiers, Your Grace,” Commander Strickland replied. “Nothing phases us too terribly.”

“How many men and horses have come with you?” Cersei asked.

“20,000 men,” Commander Strickland replied. “And 2,000 horses.”

“But no elephants?” Cersei asked. “I thought we paid for them.”

“We would have brought them, but elephants do not travel over water well,” Commander Strickland said. “So, that wasn’t included in the contract.”

Cersei nodded. “I see. Well then, Commander Strickland, my Generals will help you with anything you need, and my servants will direct you to your quarters.”

Commander Strickland bowed deeply. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Euron waited until the Golden Company Commander had left before sliding his eyes to his Queen. “Once again, I have done what you’ve asked.”

“And the Realm is thankful for your support in keeping it safe,” Cersei said.

“But I can’t fuck the realm, can I?” Euron asked.

Cersei wrinkled her nose. “I’ll ignore your use of such language before your Queen, just this once.”

Euron took a step onto the dais of the throne, the Mountain took a step forward, but Cersei raised her hand to steady him.

“I’ve done nothing but help you,” Euron said, walking up the dais. “And every time I come to you, you turn me away. How else must I show my loyalty to you?”

“If you want a whore, go buy one,” Cersei said through clenched teeth. “If you want a Queen, earn her.”

She stood from her throne and turned to leave, only to stop by Euron’s next words.

“I wonder how much the Dragon Queen would pay for my help. She is, after all, unmarried as well.”

Cersei looked at Qyburn, her Hand giving her a small shake of his head, but Cersei knew what had to be done. She was going to have to scrub herself raw in the morning, but it was time for her to use the greatest weapon anyone would possess.

Slowly, Cersei turned to Euron and gave him a unique look that the Iron Islander knew all too well. That night, Cersei was forced to close her eyes and think of Jaime, beautiful, sweet Jaime as she allowed Euron to take his pleasure. Thankfully it was over quickly, and to help her frayed nerves, she did the one thing she never did during pregnancy before: drink wine.

But as Euron spent the night in the Red Keep, figures moved in the shadows upon his first ship. Armed with weapons, they cut down any man that came their way, although it helped that Euron’s men were mute and thus couldn’t shout for help.

The first figure came to Euron’s cabin and, after killing the guard, broke the lock and kicked it open to reveal the captured Yara Greyjoy. Standing over the guard's body was Theon, an ax in his hand, his face covered in blood.

Hurrying to his sister, Theon untied her and held out his hand, only for her to punch him hard in the stomach then headbutt him. Spitting out blood, Theon looked at her in confusion, but Yara wasn’t angry, not anymore anyway.

“What is dead may never die,” Yara said, holding out her hand.

“But rises back again, harder and stronger,” Theon said, clasping her arm tightly.

His sister smiled and bent down, picking up his ax as a wicked grin spread over her face. “Let’s give Uncle Euron some… trouble…”

* * *

Daairo Naharis groaned deeply as he emptied his seed into the Meereenese Servant Girl under him, chuckling softly as the copper-skinned girl giggled.

“Did I please you, Your Radiance?” the girl asked.

“Never once have you let me down,” Daario replied, rolling off her.

He landed in the silken sheets of his bed, his hand sliding over her hip and resting upon her thigh.

Being the Regent of Meereen had its perks, that was true. Daario had all the food he could ask for, all the women in the world to fuck, the best clothes.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

When Daario sat upon one of the steps of the Throne of Meereen, he could tell the petitioners didn’t care about him. The same went for the men guarding the Great Pyramid, and the former slaves working in the kitchens or scrubbing the floors. Everyone who worked for him did it not out of love but out of duty. They were commanded to do so by one woman: his former Lover.

Daario sat up from his bed with a growl of anger, the covers sliding away from his necked body.

No, no, he wouldn’t think of Her. She had made her choice when she abandoned him. She told him that she didn’t love him. She didn’t need him. So why couldn’t he get Her out of his mind?

Rising from the bed, Daario walked to pour himself a goblet of wine. He needed to drown his sorrows in drink and women, that’s how he did it in the past, that’s how he will do it now.

_‘And yet I find myself wondering if or when she’ll be back,’_ Daario thought himself. _‘She was the true ruler here. No one could ever—’_

The scream of the Servant Girl ripped Daario from his thoughts. He whipped around, raising his hands for protection as a masked man slashed down with his dagger.

Daario’s arm burned from the pain of the thick gash, but his battle training kicked in. Grabbing the bronze tray, the Sellsword bashed it over his attacker's head with all his might, smirking as he watched the man crumble to the ground.

Snatching a sheet, Daario wrapped it around his arm to stop the bleeding before grabbing the fallen man’s dagger. The door burst in mere moments, his hand wrapped around the blade, no less than a dozen men wearing golden harpy masks poured into the room.

Outnumbered and underequipped for a fight, Daario knew he had to flee if he was to survive. Grabbing one of the braziers, the Sellsword threw it onto the ground, using the distraction to charge from the room as fast as possible.

Thankfully, Daario didn’t stay at the top of the pyramid as Daenerys did, but was on the lower floors. Running out into the city, Daario almost slid into a river of blood.

It was like a nightmare from the past.

Men wearing golden harpy masks were slitting throats and stabbing anyone they could come across that wasn’t them.

Once again, the Son’s of the Harpy had risen, and this time, Daenerys wasn’t anywhere near them to stop it.

* * *

Nymra Martell inhaled the salty scent of the sea as she gazed upon her homeland. It had been years since she had stepped foot in Dorne, and so much had changed.

Almost three decades ago, Nymra had left with her older brother Oberyn to explore the world. Together, they vacationed in the Free Cities of Essos, explored the jungles of Sothoryos, and even visited the mysterious Ulthos a couple of times.

Nymra remembered their mother teasing she was a fusion of the severe and calculating Doran, and the free-spirited yet sensual Oberyn. Unfortunately, she was nothing like her older sister, Elia. The two never honestly had a chance to bond as their older brother did. Now everyone except for Nyrma was dead and gone.

“Where do you wish us to go, My Lady?” asked the Commander of Nymra’s men. “To Sunspear?”

The Dornish Princess nodded. “Yes, to Sunspear, and we must arrive with haste.”

Nymra will never forgive herself for being so remote that word just now reached her of the dire state of her country. As the only surviving Martell left in the world, she was now Princess of Dorne and the leader of her House.

It didn’t take them long to reach Sunspear, and as Nymra walked the halls of the villa memories of the past came rushing back.

She remembered playful spear-sparing with Oberyn, sitting in on Doran’s council meetings and listening to Elia playing the windflute. Now, everything was abandoned to be filled with the sands of time. So many ghosts haunted these halls, and it was quite the thought that Nymra now was all that remained of the Great House of Nymeros-Martell.

“Summon all the Dornish House’s,” Nymra commanded, running her hands over the smooth walls. “Tell them, their Princess wishes to speak with them.”

Summons were sent out to all the House’s, and before long, the halls of Sunspear have filled with people again. Dressed in the colors of her House, Nymra sat upon the Sunthrone Of Dorne, accepting the oath of loyalty of those who came. However, a white-haired figure stopped in front of her, his wrinkled face twisted into a frown.

“I did not know when you would come back,” Harmen Uller grumbled. “Or even, if you would.”

“House Martell belongs in Dorne,” Nymra said, straightening her back. “I have to be here.”

“What makes you think we will follow you,” the Lord of Hellholt asked. “You abandoned us for years. You were safe on the other side of the world as my daughter, brother, and children were slaughtered by those damned Lannister’s.”

Nymra knew of whom he spoke. It was of Oberyn and his most beloved paramour: Ellaria Sand. Nymra had heard of what had befallen her brother, of Ellaria, of his older daughters.

“All Lannister’s must pay their debts, Lord Uller,” Nymra said. “And I will not let them get away with their crimes. I have brought spies to worm their way into this so-called ‘Lion Queen’s’ court. They will find her weakness and bring it to me. At the same time, I will look for allies to bring her down.”

“Ellaria said she had allies, the last Targaryen,” Lord Uller said. “But before they could work together, the Lion Bitch’s captain of ships captured and killed her.”

“Then we will plan on how to overcome them,” Nymra said firmly. “But first, I must be crowned in the Water Gardens, and I must locate the remaining members of my family. Do you know if your daughter’s younger children are safe?”

Lord Uller’s lips curved ruefully. “Yes, I do. When I heard of her capture, I had them all brought to Hellholt to live with me. Sarella, Elia, Obella Sand, Dorea, and Loreza all are alive and well.”

Nyrma nodded and smiled slyly. The Lioness thought she had won, but House Martell’s words were Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. They would rise from this, and drown all who thought to destroy them in the sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evening everyone!
> 
> So again, another chapter that hasn't changed much, but I did remember something. One thing that I hated in the old version of this story is how I didn't give Nymra, Yara, and the other secondary characters their time in the light. I had a whole side plot for Nymra and Yara (won't spoil it!) that didn't go anywhere. Well, now I plan to write it out to it's entirty and I know you guys are going to LOVE IT!!!
> 
> Tell me what you thought of the chapters, and what YOU think the side plot of Nymra & Yara will be! Do you want Cersei to get more of the spotlight as well? Leave all your comments below, and have a good evening!
> 
> Toodles!


	5. V.	The Pack Survives

_‘To go north, you must journey south, to reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back and to touch the light, you must pass beneath the shadow…’_

Daenerys awoke with a gasp as Quaithe’s words echoed in her mind.

The mysterious words of the mysterious woman from Asshai still rang in Daenerys’s ears after all this time. The masked woman had said more, but for some reason, that section of words always stuck with the Dragon Queen.

 _‘Could it be a warning?’_ Daenerys wondered. _‘About my future here in Westeros?’_

Daenerys stretched out her hand, reaching for Jon but only grasping air. Her lover was gone, only his imprint remaining upon the sheets and even that was fading. In Jon’s place, what was left was a winter rose, its blue petals illuminating in the low morning light.

Smiling, Daenerys picked it up, inhaling its sweet scent as she sighed. Memories of the night prior came rushing back, all those beautiful, sensual, delicious memories. Whatever her anger for Jon had been easily erased, although Daenerys made a mental note as not to let him use sex was a way to worm his way back into her good graces. Still, though, they had made amends, and for that, Daenerys was grateful.

The Dragon Queen rose from her bed, humming softly to herself as she went to her vanity, Her hair was a tangled mess after her wild night, yet Daenerys tried to comb it smooth with her fingers she would put the rose in her hair.

“Are you awake, Your Grace?” Missandei called, knocking on the door. “Can I come in?”

Daenerys grabbed her discarded sleeping silk and wrapped it around her body, tying the ribbons before calling out, “Yes, come on in!”

Missandei pushed the door in with her foot and carried the meal tray for her Queen to break her fast. “I hope you like this, according to the Stark Cook it’s supposed to warm you both inside and out.”

Daenerys looked at what her friend had brought for her to eat. It was a simple bowl filled with hot meat soup and vegetables, thick bread, and watered wine. Curious, the Dragon Queen gave it a quick sniff. Instantly, Daenerys realized her mistake as nausea rose within her. Covering her mouth, Daenerys rushed to the chamber pot and emptied her stomach contents into it, once, twice, thrice.

Missandei hurried to her queen and held her shoulders, giving Daenerys support as she dry-heaved. When Daenerys finally stopped, Missandei grabbed one of the chamber pot's clean linen clouts to wipe her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys coughed. “That wasn’t… that wasn’t very queen-like.”

“Everyone gets sick, Your Grace,” Missandei said. “From the highest king to the lowest peasant.”

“But not me. I’ve never gotten sick in my life, except for…”

Daenerys’s eyes went to the unused linen strips by her bed, then the chamber pot, then the food, then to Missandei’s eyes. “How… How long was our trip from Dragonstone to White Harbor?”

Missandei frowned as she counted in her head. “Around two or three moons. Why do you…?” Her hazel eyes widened as she too looked at the linen strips, chamber pot, then the food. “Y…Your Grace… Are you…?”

“I… I don’t know!” Daenerys said quickly. “I don’t think…”

The room was spinning as Daenerys tried to stand to her feet, only to fall back on her knees. Missandei grasped her securely with a soft cry, holding her tightly to make sure Daenerys didn’t land on her stomach.

Daenerys didn’t want to believe it. It didn’t make sense for it to be so and yet… all the signs are there. Her hands even went to her breasts under the thin robe. The Dragon Queen almost jumped out of her skin at the sharp tenderness.

_‘This was how it was with Rhaego… I know my body; I know that I’m… I’m…’_

“Your Grace… is with child,” Missandei whispered.

“I…I can’t be…” Daenerys stammered. “It’s… It’s impossible!”

“How?” Missandei asked. “You are a woman…”

“But this never happened with Daario,” Daenerys said quickly. “And he and I shared a bed for over a year.”

“Then it sounds like, Your Grace, the fault was his then,” Missandei said. “I heard sometimes, my Old Master, speak of a friend of his who loved to lay with the slave girls in his manse. Yet they never became with child.”

“It could have been they were taking what the Westerosi call Moontea?” Daenerys suggested.

Missandei shook her head. “Such items were too expensive for slaves to buy. Instead, it was revealed that the man couldn’t produce seed and was infertile. In Naath, it’s believed that a man’s fertility is just as important as a woman’s to produce a child.”

Daenerys nodded, all the puzzle pieces clicking into place. It made sense, of course, that Daario, an infamous Sellsword, and Captain of the Second Son’s, would know ways to prevent a child. Perhaps it was his fertility problems, or he took a herb, Daenerys did not know. With Drogo, she became with the child almost immediately.

 _‘And now… I carry Jon’s,’_ Daenerys thought, a slow smile creeping upon her face.

This was her greatest dream, to be carrying the child of the man she loved. But then, almost as quickly as her joy came, as did worry.

 _‘When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,’_ said Mirri Maz Duur. _‘When the seas go dry, and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.’_

Like Quaithe’s words, the words of the Witch who had killed Daenerys’s first husband still haunted her. Back then, Daenerys was so innocent, and her hunger to finally have a family caused her to make a rash and stupid decision that had dire consequences. Not again.

“Will you tell him?” Missandei asked, interrupting Daenerys’s thoughts.

Daenerys looked into Missandei’s eyes. “No.”

“B-But, Your Grace…” Missandei protested.

Daenerys shook her head. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not going to tell him, not yet. We can’t win this war if Jon is worried about me the whole time.”

“And what if you lose it?” Missandei boldly asked. “What will you tell him?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” Daenerys said, lifting her chin. “Until then, only you and I know this secret, understood?”

Missandei frowned. This was a bad idea, she knew this was a bad idea, but she couldn’t refuse her Queen. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Daenerys nodded. “Thank you. I didn’t have morning sickness for much of my first pregnancy so that I can hide it.”

“And when your stomach begins to swell?” Missandei asked.

“As I said, I’ll cross the bridge when I get to it,” Daenerys said firmly, standing up. “Now, I want to explore Winterfell before it’s time for the War Council meeting. Can you bring me my clothes?”

Missandei sighed and nodded, going to go what her queen said.

* * *

Already wide awake, Jon sat in the godswood, sitting upon a boulder next to the heart tree as he cleaned Longclaw. At his feet at Ghost, once again reunited with his Master.

The Northern King hated to leave Daenerys’s side before sunrise, but he couldn’t risk someone finding him in her bed. The way the Northern Lords and Ladies acted when Jon merely introduced her as his Queen, he knew they’d all have a stroke if they knew of their relationship.

 _‘It won’t always be like this,’_ Jon thought to himself. _‘After all, this is over, I’ll figure out what to do.’_

Jon could see a future with Daenerys. He wanted a future with Daenerys. If they were just two ordinary people, Jon would have married her long ago; but they weren’t. They were the Dragon Queen and the White Wolf. Their marriage would be a political one, and Jon knew people would try and find ways to tear them apart.

 _‘Sansa most of all,’_ Jon thought angrily. _‘Why can’t she see what I see in her?’_

Ghost suddenly sat up, his ears perking as out of nowhere, a voice broke the silence.

“You look so much like Father, doing that,” a familiar voice said.

Jon raised his eyes, the grey orbs lighting up with joy at the young woman's sight standing mere feet in front of him.

“Arya!” Jon gasped.

Arya’s lips curved into her signature, cocky grin, although she smiled at her older brother. “You’ve gotten taller.”

“You’ve gotten older,” Jon said, putting aside Longclaw and rising to meet her.

His sister wasn’t a little girl anymore. Arya was a woman, yet Jon took note of the sword and dagger on her hips, and how her body language showed she was ready to use them without a second thought.

“How did you do it?” Arya asked.

Jon arched an eyebrow, “Do what?”

“Survive a dagger to the heart?” Arya said.

Jon’s smile slowly melted from his face as he sighed. He knew that Sansa must have told her what he told her, but unlike Sansa, Jon had a feeling Arya believed it had happened.

“I didn’t,” Jon replied, his voice low.

He expected Arya to question him further, but Jon wasn’t sure if he had the answer she would want. How would he explain some ‘Lord of Light’ was the one who brought him back? The North worshiped the Old Gods. It wouldn’t make sense to her.

Yet, Arya didn’t question him. Instead, she merely nodded and took a deep breath. “I saw you on your way to Winterfell. But you didn’t see me.”

“You did?” Jon said. “I’m sorry, please forgive me. I wasn’t looking for anyone. If I’m honest, I was trying to plot out the conversation between Sansa and Daenerys.”

“I’m guessing she doesn’t like her?” Arya asked. “The Dragon Queen, I mean.”

“You’re right in that,” Jon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“And I’m guessing she doesn’t approve of your…relationship?” Arya asked.

Jon once again arched an eyebrow. He didn’t know how Arya knew of his relationship with Daenerys but didn’t rebuff it. “You can say that.”

“As much as I hate to say it, you might want to listen to her, “Arya said.

“Oh?” Jon asked, a small smile curving his lips. “How’s that taste, saying that?”

“Lime vinegar,” Arya quips with a shrug. “But it’s the truth. You should trust Sansa. She’s the smartest person that I know.”

“Just because someone is smart, doesn’t make them always right,” Jon replied.

Arya’s lips curved into an almost-smirk, although she didn’t rebuff him.

“I know that the North hates outsiders,” Jon continued. “But… it doesn’t always have to be like this. Daenerys herself has done nothing against us, unlike others who have constantly turned their backs on us. I trust her, Arya, and I love her, and I’m not going to turn away from her, just because my little sister doesn't trust her because of some prejudice.”

Again, Arya didn’t rebuff or agree with his statement, and instead, she turned the subject onto him. “I sense there is a personal connection for how you feel towards how Sansa is acting towards your queen.”

Jon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t that long ago she hated me, Arya. I remember how she hated, ignored, and even bullied me into gaining favor with your Mother. You remember how Catlyn despised my very existence, now, because I’ve defeated Sansa’s enemies, I’m in her favor. Daenerys is helping to stop a threat against all of humanity, and yet all Sansa can see is the daughter of the Mad King. Daenerys wasn’t even born yet when our Uncle and Grandfather died. But Sansa holds their deaths over Daenerys’s head; that isn’t right.”

“No,” Arya said, finally choosing aside. “That isn’t right, and you are right. I remember those days, in our youth, watching Sansa try and bully you because you were ‘just a bastard,’ to the delight of Mother.” She sighed. “If you believe this Targaryen Queen is worth the chance, I will give it to her. But know this brother: I don’t give second ones.”

Jon’s face cracked into a small smile. “You will?”

Arya nodded. “The lone wolf dies, but the Pack survives. If you love her and trust her, then Daenerys Targaryen is apart of our pack, and I will defend her as I shall defend you, Sansa, and Bran.”

Jon couldn’t stop himself from embracing his younger sister, the lone wolf back among its life-long pack.

* * *

Daenerys clasped her hands in front of her thankfully still flat stomach as she stood around a large map, the image painted to reflect Winterfell. Inside the self-appointed ‘War Room’ stood all the most influential people in this world's region.

Besides Jon and his family, all the Northern Commanders were there and several Northern Lord’s, and Lord Yohn Royce of the Vale. Daenerys’s supporters were there as well, from Grey Worm and her principal commanders to Qhono and his Dothraki commanders, Jorah, Tyrion, Varys, and lastly, Missandei.

“Thank you for coming here for this meeting, my Lords and Ladies,” Daenerys said, her voice regal as always. “I hope you weren’t awoken too early?”

“Northerners are all early risers,” Sansa replied haughtily. “Unlike some, we know days aren’t meant to be wasted, lounging in bed for hours.”

Daenerys’s face was impassive, although she knew an insult when she heard one. “I’m glad to be in a region after my own heart then. I always rose with the sun. Dragons love warmth and fire, remember?”

Jon cleared his throat to put an end to this battle of wills. “We are here to discuss our plan to fight against the Armies of the Dead. I do believe…”

“I have spoken with several of the Northern Lords, while you were away,” Sansa interrupted. “And we have come up with a battle strategy. If I may, Jon?”

Jon sighed but gave a tired nod for Sansa to speak.

The young woman stepped forward eagerly. “First, we should begin with where the women and children will be kept,” Sansa began. “We believe the best place for them to be is in the crypts.”

“The crypts?” Daenerys repeated. “Where…the dead are kept?”

“That is the definition of a crypt…Your Grace,” Sansa replied, trying to keep the venom from her voice.

“But is that… smart?” Daenerys asked.

“What is your problem with this first stage of the plan?” Sansa asked.

“It’s just that we’re going up against a creature whose main… ability is to make people rise from the dead,” Daenerys explained. “Don’t you think a crypt is a… beacon, for him? You’re placing another weapon in his hands to use against us.”

Sansa ground her teeth behind her perfect smile. “Where do you suggest then, Your Grace, we put the men and women?”

Daenerys shrugged. “I do not know. I’m not from Winterfell. But is there somewhere secure and safe, you know of?”

“The Great Hall,” Arya said abruptly. “Its doors are made of Ironwood, the strongest wood in all the realm. It is said to be semi-impervious to flame.”

“And you believe this place will be a safer place?” Daenerys asked.

She had met Jon’s youngest sister mere minutes before the war meeting, and she had to admit that she liked this one rather than the redhead. Arya seemed like a female version of Jon, although she had a freer spirit, but was more quite. While Arya didn’t smile when she met Daenerys, there was something in those grey eyes that told Daenerys she could trust this one.

Arya nodded. “The doors are also bolted with iron, to add to their security. There aren’t any windows either, so there isn’t a risk of these wights getting in by accident.”

Sansa turned red in the face. “You forget one particularly important subject, Arya. There are only two doors: one in the front, leading to the main hallway, and one leading to the kitchens. It would be easy for the people inside to be overwhelmed! No, the best place is the crypts, as there is one way in and one way out!”

“What do you think, Jon?” Arya asked.

All eyes turned to Jon, the Northern Lord looking from Sansa’s face to Daenerys’s.

“I believe… we should do what Queen Daenerys says,” Jon ruled. “We can place barriers of dragonglass in front of the doors for added protection as well.”

“And, I’ll place some of my Unsullied within the Great Hall as well,” Daenerys volunteered. “They have been trained for situations like this.”

She turned her violet eyes to Sansa’s blue, daring the Lady of Winterfell to counter-argue her. The line had been drawn in the sand, and it was clear to all that while the Stark’s all claimed to be wolves, there seemed to be the forming of a new pack. A new pack in which Sansa, a girl born and raised in Winterfell, was becoming the lone wolf, and that was something that Sansa, in her pride, could not allow.

The rest of the war meeting wasn’t as tense as the beginning, although they didn’t get much done. They could only agree at the moment that battlements and protective barriers had to be built around Winterfell, but they argued on how thick they should be as well as their location. The Northerner’s favored making a tight circle of dragonglass covered barriers, then drawing the wights into Winterfell to be overwhelmed at once, but Daenery’s group thought this was suicide.

In the end, though, Jon and Daenerys were able to make a compromise. Several trench rings were going to be dug around the castle, each creating a circle of protection around the main castle. These rings would then be filled with pitch and dry twigs, and be lit when the wights, white walkers, and Night King were spotted. The only way over the rings would be several bridges, but with a simple tug of a rope, the bridges would collapse, and dragonglass-tipped spikes would be jutted out. Simultaneously, catapults were going to be built, to launch flaming balls of tar at the wights; some would even be covered with spiked pieces of dragonglass.

It would take some time to do it, but if they all worked together, it could be done.

Sansa flounced out of the War room in a huff, her small group of loyal followers following her.

“I think I’ve made your sister hate me more,” Daenerys teased to Jon.

Jon’s lip curved into a small smile. “Just give her time. Sansa’s used to always being right.”

“At least that’s what she believes,” Arya said, appearing at Jon’s side. She gave Daenerys a nod. “Your Grace.”

“Please,” Daenerys said, holding up her hand. “It’s… It’s alright for you not to call me that. Titles and formality don’t matter when you’re facing down possible death and destruction.”

Arya’s lips curved into a small smile, although she nodded in agreement.

“You are skilled in the sword?” Daenerys asked, pointing to the sword and dagger on Arya’s hip.

“Of course,” Arya said, tilting her head. “Why? Are you one of those people who believe a woman’s place belongs in the castle?”

“Of course not,” Daenerys said, smiling at her. “I believe a woman can do anything a man can do, if not better. Aegon didn’t conquer Westeros alone.”

Arya’s face broke into a real smile at that, as memories came flooding back of her youth. “I used to dream I was them. I believed I was Rhaenys or Visenya, riding dragons into battle. It was something I’ve always wanted to do!”

Daenerys’s smile grew wider. “That is what you want to ride a dragon?”

“Growing up, more than anything,” Arya confirmed.

“Then how about we make a deal?” Daenerys suggested. “You train me how to use a sword, and, when this is all over, I’ll take on a ride on one of the backs of my dragons.”

Arya’s face became as bright as the sun as she looked to Jon with excitement as if she was a little girl again. However, neither Jon—nor Missandei—looked excited at this suggestion.

“Y-Your Grace,” Missandei blurted out before she could stop herself. “A-Are you sure that’s… that’s wise?”

“I’m going into battle against a hoard of undead corpses,” Daenerys replied, ignoring the true meaning of Missandei’s worry. “I will need some way of defense or protection if I find myself knocked off Drogon’s back.”

Jon opened his mouth to retort, but Arya spoke first.

“Wonderful, it’s settled then. I will give you your first lesson later today.”

Daenerys smiled nodding. She turned to go, only for a large white mass to block her way. A creature the size of a small horse looked at Daenerys curiously, trotting over to her, sniffing her body before nuzzling her stomach, whining and wagging the tip of his tail.

“Ghost!” Jon barked. “Bad boy. Stop that.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Daenerys said. “He’s not hurting me. What… What is he?”

“A Direwolf,” Jon replied. “Think of them as large dogs.”

“That can rip a horse’s throat out,” Arya added, rolling her eyes as Jon’s sharp look.

Daenerys held out her hand for this ‘Ghost’ to sniff and made sure not to make any sudden movement. Ghost sniffed her hand, licked it, then went back to nuzzling her stomach affectionately.

“Seems like he likes you,” Jon said, his eyes shining with approval. “He doesn’t normally doesn’t just take to strangers.”

“Maybe I’m special,” Daenerys suggested, stroking the direwolf’s white coat.

 _‘Yes,’_ Jon thought. _‘You most certainly are.’_


	6. VI. Drawing the First Blood

Jon watched with an amused smile as Arya knocked Daenerys flat on her bottom in the snow for what seemed like the thousandth time.

The young women were in one of the many training grounds that were in the castle. Two days ago, Daenerys had offered dragon-riding sessions with Arya if the young She-wolf would train her in swordsmanship. Arya, in her excitement, had wanted to begin that very day. However, planning for the upcoming war took precedence, and they were just now able to get to the agreed-upon lessons.

Jon would freely admit that he didn’t like this idea.

Jon had spent these last two days trying to convince Daenerys to not go through with it. He had brooded, begged, argued, and then tired her out in bed to get his lover to change her mind.

But in the end, the Dragon Queen was unshakable.

It wasn’t that Jon didn’t think she could do it, Jon believed Daenerys could do anything she put her mind too. It was that Jon knew the dangers that came with carrying a sword. He allowed it with Arya because that was who she was; he gave her Needle. But if Daenerys went riding into battle wielding a sword, it put her in even greater danger.

Jon wasn’t even supposed to be watching her.

The King in the North was supposed to be overseeing the digging of the fire rings and the building of a dragonglass battlements. But he couldn’t, his mind would always be on Daenerys.

Movement out of the corner of Jon’s eye made the young man look across the training arena to see Varys and Tyrion talking. The two seemed to be into a deep conversation, casting glances at Daenerys and Arya in the ring.

_‘What could they be discussing for intensely?’_ Jon wondered.

They had to support Daenerys learning to fight with a sword, as it cast her into a better light in the North. The North followed strength, as well as tradition and firm loyalty to blood-ties. Daenerys looked like one of the first Queens of Westeros, the silver-haired Sister-wives of Aegon the Conqueror who helped him form a united realm.

It only made Jon fall even deeper in love with her.

“Jon?” said a familiar voice. “There you are.”

Jon tore his eyes from the sparring women to see Sansa striding to him. Dressed in her warm cloak and dress, his sister had half a dozen scrolls tucked under her arm.

“I’ve been searching the whole castle for you,” Sansa said.

Jon took a deep breath, giving her his full attention. “I’ve been here. What can I do for you?”

“I want your opinion on something,” Sansa said. “One moment, please.”

She put the scrolls on a nearby table before picking one up. Unrolling it, she held it out to Jon for him to inspect.

It was a sketch of him, Jon saw, dressed in regal winter robes and crown upon his bow.

“I can’t decide on the style of robes and crown, and would like to know what you think,” Sansa explained. “Thank the gods I got books of drawings that had the Old Stark Kings in them, or else I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Sansa,” Jon said, confused. “What is this?”

“I’m trying to plan your coordination, of course,” Sansa replied. “After all this is over, we need to crown you officially.”

Jon frowned. “Sansa, I’m not going to be King of the North. I bent the knee to Daenerys.”

Sansa sighed. “Yes…about that. Jon, we have to talk about your…Queen.”

“She’s ‘our’ Queen,” Jon corrected her.

“I’ve been speaking to a couple of the lords,” Sansa continued. “And we believe you should crown yourself, our King. Then…renegotiate your allegiance to her.”

“Renegotiate?” Jon repeated. “What is there to renegotiate? I bent the knee, took the oath; she is my Queen.”

“How do you know that she will have our best interests are heart, though?” Sansa asked, choosing her words carefully.”

Jon grit his teeth. “I know because I trust her.”

“Trust isn’t good enough. Jon, the wounds are still fresh for what the Mad King did…”

“That was over two decades ago,” Jon pointed out. “Besides, House Targaryen has ruled peacefully and justly over the realm for three centuries before then.”

“The point is, the North is not going to willingly bend the knee to someone that is an outsider, and whose father killed a Warden of the North,” Sansa argued.

“Sansa…” Jon said through gritted teeth.

Sansa held up her hand. “… Unless she has someone with a… level head at her side.”

Jon arched an eyebrow. “What are you talking about, Sansa?”

Sansa turned to look at Daenerys and Arya at the ground below her. The Dragon Queen managed to block Arya's swipe, spin to dodge another strike, and then deliver a quick a hit on Arya’s leg with her wooden sword.

“I’m talking about marriage, Jon,” Sansa said, not pulling her eyes from the two. “She’s single. You’re single. The North knows you, wants you as their king. If you are crowned, Jon, you are the same rank as she. You can make your demands without being less than. You don’t have to play by only her rules, Jon. You’ll have a voice, and you’ll use that for the North.”

Jon opened his mouth to retort, only to close it.

This was the last thing he would expect to hear from Sansa’s mouth, and yet… it was all that he wanted. If he married Daenerys, Jon wouldn’t have to hide his relationship with her. In fact, as King and Queen of Westeros, they could openly flaunt it.

They could grow older together.

They could rule together.

Once the Armies of the Dead and Cersei were taken care of, their children would rule a united realm.

It was his greatest dream.

And yet…

In the back of Jon’s mind screamed a tiny voice of caution. There was a reason that Sansa was suggesting this alliance, and it put him on edge.

“I’m guessing she’ll have to agree to give the North its independence, and have no claim upon it?” Jon asked.

“Of course,” Sansa confirmed. “You hold the North; she controls the South. Your child controls it all when it comes of age. It’s the perfect plan.”

Jon frowned, turning away. A united Westeros was what Daenerys want to do, yes, but she pictured herself being that uniter. In her eyes, Westeros would still be fractured of Jon held the North and her only the South. But he was ignoring the primary problem here: Daenerys couldn’t have children; she had told him this.

A Dothraki warrior hurried up to Daenerys and said something to her in their language. Daenerys’s morphed into one of worry as she looked up to Jon, nodding for him to come down and follow her, before turning to talk to Arya.

“You’ve given me much to think about,” Jon said to Sansa. “Much to think about.”

Turning away from her, Jon didn’t see the small smile curve on Sansa’s lips as she watched him walk away.

* * *

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked as he reached Daenerys and Arya.

“It’s the dragons,” Daenerys said. “They’re barely eating.”

“We should go see them,” Arya said quickly, putting Needle into its scabbard on her hip. “Check to make sure they’re alright.”

“Her Grace and I will go see the dragons,” Jon ruled. “You, Arya, are going to oversee the forge and make sure the weapons are rightfully stocked, stacked, and ready.”

Arya scowled at her brother but didn’t refuse him. Turning to Daenerys, the young Stark gave her a small bow of respect before doing as Jon had said.

“She’s working for those dragon-riding sessions, isn’t she?” Jon asked as the two walked to a pair of horses, two Dothraki was holding for them.

“Yes, and I must say, I’m learning a lot,” Daenerys, smiling with pride. “She isn’t teaching me like how I thought knights fought. She calls it…Water Dancing? I believe that’s what she said. Where could she have learned that?”

Jon helped his lover into her saddle before going to his horse. “According to her, she somehow ended up in Braavos, where she learned to fight from a society called the Faceless Men. I don’t know how much of it is true or not, but I’m not one to question her. I’ve learned that Arya hardly ever lies, why would she start now?”

The couple rode to where the dragons had made their nest, a good couple of miles from Winterfell. Three times a day, Daenerys accompanied a small group of Dothraki to deliver food to the dragons, although she didn’t get the chance that morning. She didn’t know why they wouldn’t want to eat, as it was mainly their favorite: sheep.

Jumping down from her horse, Daenerys hurried to where her Children where. Drogon and Rhaegal were licking the charred bone of their most recent meal. The biggest pile of bones was on Drogon’s side, as he was the dominant one.

At the sight of their mother, the dragons became excited. Drogon stretched out his long neck in greeting first, purring affectionately like a massive, scaly cat, rubbing his head against Daenerys in apparent demand for attention.

Jon stayed back as Daenerys inspected her Child, evident worry upon her face. “What’s wrong with them?” he asked.

Daenerys rubbed Drogon’s nose, connecting their minds once again.

She wasn’t physically in his mind, but Daenerys knew—although she couldn’t explain how—that something was wrong. Drogon seemed… anxious about something. This icy weather did not agree with him.

“They don’t like the North,” Daenerys said aloud, pressing her child's forehead. “It doesn’t agree with them…they also think I’ve been neglecting them, as of late.”

“That’s not true,” Jon protested. “You’ve just been busy, that’s all.”

“Still,” Daenerys said. “That’s no excuse.”

Drogon lowered his shoulder, clearly telling his mother what he wanted. With a soft smile, Daenerys obeyed his request and climbed upon his back, settling herself securely between his spines. Drogon rolled his shoulders with a low rumble, purring with content.

At that very moment, however, Rhaegal turned his massive head to Jon. The green-scaled dragon looked upon this man with curiosity, tilting his head side to side before opening his mouth and flicked his forked tongue to lick him.

Jon stayed still, although he was trembling in his boots. He had faced Drogon on Dragonstone; inevitably, he could meet his younger brother. Rhaegal’s slobber burned like fire upon his skin, but still, Jon did not move. When the dragon pulled away, he too lowered his shoulder in clear invitation.

Jon looked to Daenerys for an explanation.

“Go on,” Daenerys said, trying her hardest not to laugh as she nodded to Rhaegal.

A lump formed in Jon’s throat. “I-I don’t know how to ride a dragon!”

“No one does until they ride a dragon. Which you have done -several- times.”

Jon’s lip twitched at the double meaning of her words, then turned back to the green dragon.

When Rhaegal moved suddenly, Jon jumped, only to see that the dragon was preening his wings. It was as if the dragon knew they talked about him and wanted to make the best impression upon his new rider.

“B-But what if he doesn’t want me too?” Jon protested.

“He’s presenting his shoulder to you in a clear invitation,” Daenerys countered, a giggle escaping her lips. “If he doesn’t want you too, then I’ve enjoyed your company, Jon Snow.”

Jon looked at the dragon, then his lover, then the dragon again.

_‘I just_ had _to fall in love with the Mother of Dragons,’_ Jon grumbled to himself. ‘ _Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with the Mother of Hounds? Or the Mother of Roses? Dragons? Fucking dragons!’_

Walking to Rhaegal, Jon tried his best to copy Daenerys. He climbed upon Rhaegal’s back as best he could, although he was in an awkward position.

“Alright,” Jon wheezed. “What do I grab onto? There aren’t any reigns or anything?”

“Whatever you can,” Daenerys replied. “And hold on tightly.”

Jon looked to the closest spines on Rhaegal’s back and grasped them tightly. The moment he touched them, a powerful static surge shot through his body. Everything within him tingled, from the hairs on his head to the tips of his toes. Jon’s eyes itched and watered, but the Northern Lord quickly wiped them away.

This time, when Jon grasped Rhaegal’s spines again, the dragon began to move.

After getting a running start, Rhaegal began to flap his great wings and took off into the sky. Daenerys smiled with excitement as she watched Jon and Rhaegal in the air, and quickly urged Drogon to join them.

It was impossible to explain the power of being upon a dragon fully. But it could be described in a single word: freedom. There, among the clouds, gave one a sense of unparalleled freedom and power that could only be rivaled by gods.

Daenerys watched as Jon struggled to stay onto Rhaegal’s back, but was proud he was trying. It only made her love for him surge, her desire for him, and him alone. In Meereen, the dragons wouldn’t let Daario get within meters of them. Here they accepted Jon as if he was one of their own.

_‘Perhaps he is, one of their own,’_ Daenerys thought as Drogon followed Rhaegal. _‘Jon’s mother is a mystery… perhaps she was a Dragonseed?’_

Daenerys’s train of thought was ripped away when Rhaegal flew at Drogon’s side, Jon in a better position on his back. He looked at Daenerys with a fire in his eyes, as well as a smirk on his lips.

Daenerys knew a challenge when she saw one.

Leaning down to give Drogon her head, the two dragons began to race. They soured over the icy trees, glided over half-frozen lakes, and flew around mountains taller than anyone had ever seen. Once, both dragons broke through the thick layer of clouds, the warm sun reflecting against their scales.

Daenerys snuck a look at Jon, only to see that he watched her with unbridled and unfiltered love and admiration. However, before she could say something, Rhaegal dipped back down again, Drogon following. Jon seemed to direct him to a landing spot, to which Drogon quickly joined him. The two riders dismounted, their boots crunching against the virgin snow.

“You’ve completely ruined horses for me. You know that?” Jon asked, pulling Daenerys close.

“You make that sound as if that’s a bad thing,” Daenerys said, looking at him from under her lashes.

Jon chuckled and wrapped his arm around her slender waist, the two of them walking. “It was as if he knew what I wanted… where I wanted to go. I… I have a connection with Ghost, you see, but it’s nothing compared to that. I could feel the… the power within Rhaegal.”

“I know,” Daenerys said. “I know what you mean. I feel the same way with Drogon, but at the same time, I know our relationship is built upon trust and respect. A dragon is not a slave.”

A low rumbling caught the attention of Daenerys, making the Dragon Queen turn. It was a frozen waterfall, the sunlight reflected against the many icicles causing them to glitter like diamonds.

It was the most beautiful thing that Daenerys had ever seen before in her life.

“We could stay a thousand years…” she breathed. “And no one would ever find us.”

Jon smiled and pressed against her, gazing into those violet orbs that always kept his hostage.

“We’d be pretty cold,” he whispered, cupping her chin. “But I’d be old with you… my greatest dream.”

“Is that what you want?” Daenerys breathed. “To grow old with me?”

“More than anything,” Jon said. “Besides, you’ll need me… it’s cold up here for a Southern girl.”

Daenerys grasped the front of his cloak. “Then keep your Queen warm.”

“Gladly,” Jon said, finally pressing his lips to hers in a firm, passionate kiss.

Daenerys couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her mouth as she held him close. She could feel his rising hardness, the thrill of a dragon-ride, and excitement from being alone with her, clearly arousing him.

“Jon…” she whispered between kisses, sliding her hand into his breeches.

A loud snarl behind the two made Daenerys and Jon turn around. Drogon and Rhaegal were both looking at their riders with a mixture of expressions. Rhaegal seemed intrigued, but Drogon’s red eyes were narrow with anger.

Daenerys turned back to Jon with a challenging smirk. “Don’t be afraid, my Lord. He’s only a dragon.”

Jon chuckled and pulled her back into his embrace, pressing his lips back to hers with a low groan of desire. Drogon, too let out a low grunt, his red eyes narrowing into tiny slits.

* * *

Missandei and Grey Worm walked down one of many seemingly endless hallways of Winterfell, hand in hand. The two had wanted to explore this ancient castle, as well as spend time together.

Typically, Grey Worm was ridged, composed, silent, stiff, but not at this moment. The Unsullied General has a small smile on his face as Missandei looked at everything with wide, curious eyes. She looked almost like a child, running her hands over the hard stone, poking her head into empty chambers, trying to translate the ancient North text carved into the walls.

“This place must hold so many mysterious and secrets,” Missandei said, looking to her lover.

“It yields some…curiosities,” Grey Worm said, nodding.

“I couldn’t live here, though,” Missandei said. “Too cold, I miss the sandy beaches of Naath and the heat of the sun.”

“Do you desire to return one day?” Grey Worm asked.

Missandei, at first, did not know how to answer. She was stolen from Naath as a child. She bearly remembered it. Yet the hunger to return, see perhaps her parents if they were still there, had always lingered in her soul. There was also the butterflies, Missandei wondered if she was even immune to them, or if being away from Naath for so long made her able to get sick if she returned.

“I do not know,” Missandei finally said with a sigh. “I cannot imagine leaving, Her Grace. Not now… especially not now.”

Grey Worm arched an eyebrow. “What is wrong with the Queen?”

Missandei bit her bottom lip. “Nothing,” she said quickly. “Nothing is wrong is her.”

Grey Worm stopped and turned to her, looking into her hazel eyes. He watched her from afar for years, only to finally proclaim his love during a time of war. If he were a normal man, then he’d love her properly, perhaps give her children. But that wasn’t what had happened for him and his Brothers. It didn’t matter to her though, Missandei loved him no matter the scars he bore.

Cupping her face, Grey Worm began to pull her close, desiring to kiss her, only for the Unsullied general to freeze.

One of the doors behind the couple opened, and a man stumbled out of it. He was fixing his clothes and staggering as if drunk, yet he didn’t reek of wine. From the way he was dressed, though, Grey Worm pegged him to be a Northerner.

“Oh,” the Man said, almost jumping out of his skin at the sight of them. “I—Excuse me.”

He hurried down the hall as if an ice demon was on his heels. Grey Worm and Missandei looked at each other, confused, then to the room he had come out of.

“I wonder what that was all about?” Missandei wondered aloud.

“Perhaps he was late to work on the fire rings?” Grey Worm suggested.

Missandei looked back to the door, a sinister fear creeping up her spine. “No,” she whispered. “It… It’s something else…”

Slowly, she pushed open the door.

The chamber behind the door was dark; Missandei believed it to be an abandoned sleeping space that wasn’t be used. Yet, it didn’t look abandoned. There was a desk, a candle and it’s holder, a pallet… and a naked, dead woman.

Missandei had to do a double-take, the hairs standing on the back of her neck as she slowly entered the room. “E-Excuse me?” she whispered.

The ‘dead’ woman jumped, almost scaring Missandei out of her skin. The woolen dress that the woman had been wearing was ripped off, her copper skin was covered in bruises, and her scalp was bleeding from a fistful that had been yanked out.

She had been raped.

The woman’s copper skin told Missandei that the girl was one of the many Dothraki women who had come with their families. As Missandei crept closer, her stomach sank as she saw the golden armband with a three-headed dragon stamped onto it lying on the ground. This girl personally served Daenerys, and Missandei quickly recognized her as Igi, one of Daenery’s favorites.

Igi opened one of her blackened eyes, only to whimper and scramble away at the shape looming over her.

“It’s alright,” Missandei whispered in her tongue. “It’s alright… it’s alright.”

“He said… He said…” Igi stammered. “He wanted to show me Winterfell…”

“It doesn’t matter what he said,” Missandei said, taking one of the blankets on the bed and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Come… We… We must see the Queen.”

Daenerys was not going to take this assault of one of her servants lightly. Someone was going to die for this, and if they weren’t careful, it would be a lot of people.

“Grey Worm…” Missandei whispered.

Grey Worm was already gone. Grey Worm pounced upon the Northern man before he could far. Using his training, he swiftly brought the man to the ground in the central courtyard, pressing a dagger to his throat.

“Get your filthy hands off me!” The Northerner yelled.

Grey Worm pressed the dagger closer, ready to slice his throat where he stood.

“Let go of him, right now!” a feminine voice demanded.

Grey Worm looked up to see Jon’s eldest young sister, Sansa, storming in their direction. A small group of Northern soldiers was on her train, but Grey Worm ignored her. Instead, he turned to several Unsullied who had appeared among the commotion and shoved the man into their arms.

“Hold him until Queen Daenerys comes!” Grey Worm commanded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sansa shouted. “Let go of him right now!”

“You do not command me!” Grey Worm snarled at her, his thick accent preventing him from being easily understood.

Sansa glared at him. She didn’t know what he had said but understood enough to tell he wasn’t going to listen to her. “Get him,” Sansa commanded of her soldiers.

The Unsullied instantly locked shields, forming an impregnable barrier between Sansa’s men and the Northerner in their custody. The tension between both groups was a thick as butter. Hands were on swords. Bodies were tightly coiled. All it would take was for someone to make the wrong move.

“What’s going on here?” Jon demanded, his voice booming across the courtyard.

Grey Worm saw Daenerys and hurried to his queen, dropping to his knees before her.

“What’s going on here?” Daenerys asked in his tongue. “Grey Worm, explain yourself.”

“He forced himself upon one of your Dothraki handmaids,” Grey Worm said.

He nodded to Missandei, who had her arms wrapped around a shivering Igi. The Dothraki-girl’s bruised eyes were filled with tears, her body trembling with fear and the cold wind.

Slowly, Daenerys began to change. The light-hearted woman that Jon knew became rigged, her eyes blazing with a fury he had never seen before.

“Bring him before Drogon,” Daenerys commanded of Grey Worm.

Jon watched as Grey Worm and the other Unsullied began to drag the Northern man away… in the direction of the dragons. He grabbed her arm. “What are you going?” he whispered.

“He raped one of my handmaids,” Daenerys hissed, yanking her arm free. “I will not let this stand.”

“Please, Daenerys, think about this,” Jon pleaded. “In the North we have trials, we have to prove him guilty.”

“The girl he raped is right there,” Daenerys snapped, pointing to Igi. “She deserves justice, and I will deliver it to her. Do not believe yourself able to stop me.”

Jon watched as she stormed in the direction of the Unsullied and dragons, her boots crunching in the snow. The feeling of gloved fingers digging into his arm made Jon turn to Sansa, her blue eyes looking at him with a mixture of horror and confusion.

“What is going on?” Sansa asked.

“That man has raped one of Daenerys’s handmaids, she’s going to burn him,” Jon said.

Sansa stiffened, her eyes widening in horror, but then it was replaced with a mask. “You have to stop her! We have too…”

“What do you expect me to do?” Jon hissed. “The proof is there!” he pointed to the Dothraki girl.

“Dracarys!” Daenerys suddenly cried out.

Jon and Sansa watched with horror as a column of dragon flame encased the Northern man, consuming him instantly. Within moments, the only thing remaining was a small pile of charred bones. Daenerys and her group let the flames extinguish themselves as they marched into the castle, Northerners parting to get out of their way.

“Still think it’s a bad idea for you not to be crowned?” Sansa asked.

“Sansa…” Jon said.

Sansa held up her hand. “No, Jon, you have to listen to me. She just… just… executed someone! By Dragonfire! Just like that!”

“She had a reason to…” Jon argued.

“It doesn’t matter her reasonings!” Sansa argued. “That was a power move, and you know it. She is unchecked, and she needs something, or someone, to balance her out. She can’t be trusted with making decisions that concern the North! Why can’t you see this is the better option? You crown yourself King, then marry her and be her equal! If you don’t do this, Jon, you’ll always be under her thumb and whim. How long until you do something unfavorable to her, and you’re the one standing before her dragons?”


	7. VII. Haunted by Ghosts of the Past

Jon’s head pounded as the roars of the various Northern Lords, and Ladies’ grew deafening. They had been shouting for the past hour, fighting and arguing among themselves, all in the name for demanding ‘justice’ for the Northman that Daenerys had executed.

“Enough!” Jon bellowed, his first crashing against his table. “Enough! I can’t think with all this fucking arguing!”

All eyes in the Great Hall turned to Jon, Northern eyes, and a couple of servants that Jon knew worked for Daenerys. He didn’t know if they were spies, or just people curious about what was going on. He didn’t genuinely care. He was furious at the predicament that Daenerys had put him in.

“Your Grace, I must protest this!” A Northern Lord shouted, standing to his feet. “What that… that… that woman did, was murder! She killed my son!”

“Your son raped one of her handmaids,” Sansa countered. “He would have been beheaded with Longclaw if it were my choice.”

“How do we know the girl was even raped?” Another Lord protested. “I heard those foreign whores like it rough!”

“Were her black eyes and bruised body not enough evidence of the crime committed against her?” Jon argued back. “You all know our laws. Rape is a capital offense! I’m not saying how Queen Daenerys went about this was right, but as Queen, it is within her rights to carry out punishments as she deems fit.”

“But how long until one of us commits a so-called ‘crime’ against her?” another Lord argued. “I do not want to die by dragon fire.”

“Would you prefer to die by hounds?” Sansa asked.

Jon turned to his younger sister, his grey eyes wide. They never talked about Ramsey, what he did to her. They never spoke about Sansa feeding Ramsey to his hounds; after all, he deserved it. But Jon didn’t understand why Sansa was defending Daenerys, didn’t she hate her?

“My Lady…” A Northern Lord protested, only for Sansa to raise her hands for silence.

“The rules are clear: rapes are to be punished to the greatest extent of the law,” Sansa continued. “I saw the handmaiden, and I give you my word that the punishment was deemed fit.”

Jon turned back to the Northern lords. “My ruling stands as followed: you can all mourn him if you want, but I refuse to mourn a rapist. Queen Daenerys’s justice will stand.”

He stood to leave, but a sharp voice made Jon pause in his tracks.

“So, it’s true then,” the Voice said.

Jon looked to the Northern lord who had spoken. “Is that true?”

The man smirked. “That the Dragon Whore wears your cock around her neck!”

Jon’s face turned red, his gloved fingers itched to draw Longclaw, but he forced himself to stay calm. “I will forgive your vulgar tongue, only this time, my lord. But my Lady Sister is present, and her ears to not need to be defiled by your tongue.”

“If there is any ‘defiling’ going on, it’s between you and the Dragon Whore!” the Northern Lord bellowed. “It is clear she is the one pulling your strings!”

This was too close to the truth for Jon. He knew that he was always watched, but told himself that being formal with Daenerys would be seen as nothing wrong. Though, he was the wrong one. He was too friendly with his lover. He had to take a step back.

“I am no one's puppet,” Jon said through gritted teeth. “But unlike you, I see the clear picture of what we will face. You do not like Her Grace, that is as clear as day to me. But you don’t get it. We need her and her armies! If you insult her, she will abandon us, causing our fate to be sheep herded for the slaughter. Is that what you want? Women, children, your families, all gone?”

The Great Hall slowly fell silent, men and women murmuring themselves as they listened to their king.

“You placed your trust in me because you believed in me, but recently things seemed to have gotten out of control,” Jon continued. “I’ve done what a king must put his people first, no matter what my personal feelings. But I’m not a king… not truly,” He took a deep breath. “When the Army of the Dead is defeated, I plan to crown myself as thus formally. The North will become independent, and we will govern ourselves outside of the South's political games.”

Sansa’s head jerked up in surprise. This was completely unexpected. They had only recently discussed him being formal crowned. Sansa didn’t know why Jon brought it up so quickly, but looking at the Northern Lords and Ladies told Sansa that it had the desired effect.

They all began clapping to Jon, some there even cheering for him. This was precisely what they wanted.

“And the Dragon Queen?” a Northern Lady asked.

“Will now have to heed my words,” Jon said, feeling himself betraying Daenerys with every syllable. “By crowning myself as King of the North, I will make sure that something like this never happens again. That man was a rapist, but he should have had a trial first. I should have beheaded him myself.”

The Northerner’s all nodded, murmuring in agreement.

“And I shall not wait to tell Queen Daenerys my wishes,” Jon said, bracing himself for the storm he knew would come. “I shall tell her tonight. She’s a smart woman and will acknowledge it. The North will be, from this day forward, independent!”

Applause and cheers erupted from all within the Great Hall, even Sansa clapped. Although Jon forced himself to smile and wave, he felt sick to his stomach.

He was betraying the woman he loved and now had to face her wrath.

Daenerys was in her chambers, having dinner when a knock came upon her door. Missandei answered it and was surprised to find Jon standing on the threshold.

“May I come in?” Jon asked.

Missandei glanced behind her nervous before nodding, leading Jon into Daenerys’s inner chambers. The Dragon Queen almost dropped her fork at her lover's sight, her violet eyes filling with worry. Jon, too was confused, as he saw Ghost sitting at her feet. The direwolf never seemed to be far from Daenerys these days, something that stuck Jon as odd, but he knew that no one could explain it.

“What are you doing here?” Daenerys asked, standing up. “Why are you here?”

Jon took her hands in his, clasping them tightly. “I’m here… to beg your forgiveness.”

“My forgiveness?” Daenerys repeated. “Why… Why do you need that?”

Jon took a deep breath. “I need you to promise me that you won’t get angry with what I’m about to say.”

“Jon, you’re scaring me,” Daenerys said. “What is going on?”

It was now or never. Quickly, Jon told her all of that had happened in the Great Hall. He told her of what the Northern Lords and Ladies thought. He told her about his previous talk with Sansa. He told her of his declaration of being formally crowned.

Daenerys’s face was blank as he spoke, and when Jon finished, he held his breath, waiting for her reaction. Silence hung over them for what felt like hours before Daenerys finally spoke.

“You… You broke your word…” she whispered. “You’ve betrayed me…”

“No, Dany, I haven’t,” Jon replied. “I… I’ve changed my original oath, that is true, but I have not betrayed you.” He put her hands to his heart. “Don’t you see? This is better. If I am crowned King of the North, and you as the Queen of the South, when we will be equal, and our power will be balanced. No one will accuse me of hiding behind your skits. No one will insult your honor before me. With this… Dany, we can be married.”

Daenerys said nothing, which prompted Jon to continue.

“We can get married, and after a little time, join our kingdoms together,” Jon said. “Think of it, Dany… We can be together, without fear of what people think.”

“I’m not saying that this isn’t a bad idea,” Daenerys said. “But, you did not think to speak to me before you decided this?”

“I wish that I could,” Jon said. “But… in the North, things move quickly, and I could tell I was losing their support.”

Daenerys yanked her hands from his grasp. “Then they are traitors! Just as you are!”

Jon watched as she turned her back from him, her violet eyes filling with tears.

“I am not a traitor, Dany!” Jon protested. “But you cause this! If you had allowed that Man to have a trial, he would have been found guilty and been beheaded.”

“It was my handmaid that he raped!” Daenerys countered. “His life was in my hands!”

“I’m not saying that it wasn’t,” Jon said. “But you acted foolishly by acting so rashly!”

“Is that what you think of me?” Daenerys yelled. “A fool?!”

“Aye! At that moment you…” Jon yelled back, taking a giant step forward as the two glared at each other.

Ghost leaped up from where he laid and got between the two. Barking at Jon, the direwolf pulled his lips back with a snarl, his hackles raised. Jon had seen Ghost take this stance only a couple of times before when he was protesting someone at Jon's command. Now the direwolf stood protectively in front of Daenerys as if she were some precious treasure, and Jon couldn’t be trusted with her value.

The sight of the direwolf between them made the couple stop their argument. They looked at each other, their bodies slowly losing the tension.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered. “For calling you a fool. I did not mean it, nor did I wish to upset you. But what you did, while I know it was the right thing, was wrong. You can’t go around, burning people because they wrong you. You have to hold yourself to a higher standard. Give them a trial, and if they are found guilty, then allow their punishment to match the crime.”

Daenerys’s shoulders sagged. “You… You’re right.” she turned away, walking to the window to gaze out among the snow. “I thought that by burning that man, I’d get the justice my handmaid deserved, that I’d get the respect I deserved. But when I returned and saw the horrified faces of the Northerners, I saw that once again, I had messed up.” A silent sob escaped her throat. “I don’t belong here, Jon. This place… this place will never be my home. Everyone hates me here!”

Jon walked to his lover—carefully sidestepping a still growling Ghost—and wrapped his arms around her. “I love you,” he whispered, kissing her temple. “And right now, that should be the only thing that matters. I’ve seen the true you, and soon they will as well. By crowning myself king, we can finally be together, and no one can tear us apart.”

Gooseflesh rose on Daenerys’s skin as she felt Jon press his lips to her neck.

“I love you, Dany,” Jon whispered, his hand pawing between her legs, although her gown acted like a barrier. “And nothing, I swear it will change that.”

Daenerys turned around, cupping his face in her hands, their eyes staring unblinkingly into each other. “I believe you, Jon,” she whispered.

The feel of Jon’s lips could only be described as fire upon the fire. Daenerys moaned as he packed her up against the window, lifting her into his arms and spreading her legs. Together, they worked to undo his belt and push up her gown, deep groans of pleasure rolling off their tongues when Jon entered her body.

“What if… some comes… looking for you?” Daenerys asked, her breathing coming fast against his rhythmic thrusts.

“For all they know…” Jon groaned, gripping her bottom in his large hands. “I’m here to discuss… our new alliance…”

“Keep this up, and I’ll allow you to be crowned King of the World,” Daenerys sighed, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

Jon smirked and picked up his pace, thrusting faster and deeper. He always knew the right angle of his hips for his cock to stroke against her particular spot. Jon also knew how to latch onto the proper place of her neck, which would make her scream in ecstasy.

Whimpering in pleasure, Daenerys pressed her lips back to his, her thighs quivering as he pushed deeper within her velvety walls. Whenever they were together, the whole world just melted away until it was just them that remained.

 _‘Sansa is wrong about her,’_ Jon told himself as he felt Daenerys’s walls begin to tighten, signaling she was close to climaxing. _‘They all are wrong about her. One day, they will see her worth as I do.’_

Burying his face into her neck, Jon’s breathing became heavier. He could feel the pressure building with him, until he finally burst, pouring into the woman he loved with a low groan. Daenerys had to bite back her scream of release, but the vice-like grip of her cunt told Jon that she had reached her peak.

Jon looked into her violet eyes, the eyes of the woman who held his heart hostage and saw them shining… but then a terrible thought seized him. She had just burned a man… and they had sex afterward…as it was rumored the Mad King did…

Quickly, Jon put Daenerys down and turned away, bowing his head as if in shame.

“Jon?” Daenerys said, lowering her gown. “What… What’s wrong?”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Jon said, his voice low. “I shouldn’t have…”

“Fucked me?” Daenerys finished. “Why?”

“Because it’s what… it’s what…” Jon bit his tongue, not daring to say the words. “It’s what…”

“It’s what my father did whenever he killed someone,” Daenerys said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Dany…” Jon said, turning around.

He reached for her, but Daenerys slapped his hands away, hot tears pouring down her cheeks. “Get out. Now!”

“Dany…” Jon pleaded.

Ghost once again got between them, snarling at his master to protect Daenerys.

“GET OUT!” Daenerys yelled again.

Jon knew better than to fight her on this and did as she commanded. But with every step, Jon’s heart sank deeper and deeper into his boots.


	8. VIII. Tampering of Allegiances

The next couple of days felt as if Jon was walking on the thinnest of ice.

After his… ‘argument’ with Daenerys, he formally announced his crowning in the Great Hall the following day.

Everyone looked to Daenerys for her reaction, but rather than have an outburst as Jon expected her to do; Daenerys merely smiled. She proclaimed herself happy to finally have a royal in Westeros that she could trust, and said that she was still staying to fight the dead.

However, since Jon had formally declared himself King of the North, there was a stiffness in Daenerys whenever she spoke to him. She regarded him with a cool regality and her tone sweet in war meetings, but Jon knew coldness laid beneath.

She was never going to forgive him for comparing her to the Mad King. Jon didn’t mean to say it. He didn’t mean to insult her. It just came out. But it was wrong, it was so, so, so wrong... Jon tried his hardest to make it up to her, leaving winter roses on her pillow while sleeping. But he always found them tossed away or laying in a trash pile.

Jon couldn’t blame her for being angry.

When Daenerys trained with Arya, Jon could see that she was getting much better. However, she attacked one of the training dummies with a ferocity that made Jon wonder if she imagined the dummy as him.

Most likely.

A thankful distraction came on the day Tormund, the Free Folk, and the Night’s Watch's remaining members arrived at Winterfell. Jon was happy to see the carts and wagons coming through the Winterfell gates, all bearing House Umber's sigil.

“Lord Umber!” Jon called, walking to where the young Ned was being helped down from his wagon. “You and your people made it.”

“Yes, we did, my Lord,” Ned said, smiling in relief. “We managed to…”

A bellowing roar filled Jon’s ears as a mass of fur pelts slammed into him. The Northern soldiers all tensed, their hands going to their swords as this wildling knocked their king to the ground.

Jon coughed, the wind knocked out of him. “Tormund!”

“King Crow!” Tormund bellowed, laughing. “Finally, we meet again!”

Jon couldn't help but grin at the wildling chieftain, at least that’s what Jon believed Tormund to be. All the tribes followed him, yet Tormund refused to crown himself ‘King Beyond the Wall.’

“Yes,” Jon laughed, the two men standing. “We finally meet. I hope you’re alright?”

Tormund shrugged. “The Ice Demon and his fuckers tried to swarm us, but we put up on hell of a fight.”

“I’m glad you made it,” Jon said, slapping him on the back.

“As if we’d like your Kneelers to take all the glory in this battle,” Tormund said, puffing out his chest. “So, where are ya putting us?”

Jon had thought about this exact problem carefully. Most Northerners didn’t like the Free Folk, and they couldn’t risk a fight breaking out over something minor. So, Jon decided the best place to put the Free Folk was with the only people close enough to their culture: the Dothraki.

“So, has the Big Woman been talking about me?” Tormund asked.

Jon held back a snort of laughter.

The last thing in Brienne’s mind was Tormund. The she-warrior had been given her regiment to command, and spent most of her time with them, or hovering over Sansa like a protective hen.

“Not… exactly…” Jon confessed. “We’ve been quite busy preparing for the battle.”

Tormund smirked. “No worry then. After this is over, her cunt will be dripping for me!”

Jon once again fought the urge to laugh. He could sooner see Brienne running Tormund through with her golden sword, then sleep with him.

‘Then again, war changes people; anything was possible.’

They approached the Dothraki camp to find a large crowd gathered, shouting at something. Fearing a fight had broken out, Jon pushed himself through with Tormund behind him, only for both men to see an astounding sight.

In the center of the group was a Dothraki woman, fighting against a man almost twice her size in unarmed combat. While the man tried to use his strength to bring her down, the woman used her speed and long pinned her opponent down.

The crowd erupted into applause, bellowing with praise as the woman leaped to her feet, tossing her head back with a shrill shriek of triumph.

“Who… Is… That…?” Tormund stammered, taking in the Dothraki woman.

“I don’t know,” Jon said with a shrug. “We can always find out.”

His eyes searched the crowd, before falling upon Qhono, Daenerys’s Dothraki lieutenant.

“Qhono!” Jon called out, thankfully no butchering the Essosi name. “I need to speak with you!”

Qhono glared at the Northerner, who he knew had upset his Khaleesi. It would be easy for him to gift her this man’s head; after all, it was the Dothraki way. But now was not the time.

“Iron Man,” Qhono answered in heavily accented Common Tongue.

The higher-ranked Dothraki was learning the language by order of Daenerys, although they did not see the point in it. Still, anything for their Khaleesi.

“I have someone I want you to meet,” Jon said, gesturing to Tormund. “This is a friend of mine. I was hoping that you would allow him and his people to lay camp near you.”

Qhono looked to the red-haired monster of a man with an arched eyebrow. “You, Iron Man?”

“Nah,” Tormund chuckled, shaking his head. “The Kneeler life isn’t for me. Hunting, fucking, drinking, little killing. That’s what I want.”

Qhono’s lips curved, understanding Tormund’s words. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be silenced by a smooth voice at his sister, who appeared at his side.

“Who are they?” Asheffi asked in their tongue.

“Iron Men who serve our Khaleesi,” Qhono replied. “They want to bed near us.”

Asheffi looked to Tormund and Jon, her cold gaze falling upon the wilding. “That one shall bed near me whenever he likes.”

Jon, who had been listening to their conversation but not understanding its word, looked to Qhono for an explanation. “What did she say?”

“My sister says, your friend and people may bed near us,” Qhono replied, although he refused to repeat her words for Tormund.

“Wonderful,” Jon exclaimed, sighing in relief. “I must go, but Tormund, please don’t pick any fights.”

“Spoilsport…” Tormund grumbled, turning his blue eyes to the woman he had seen in the wrestling ring.

She was breathtaking.

Standing almost the same height as her brother, her limbs were long, and her hands large. The skin on her oval-shaped face was quite dark, yet her eyes were the color of molten gold. Her long midnight-black hair was bound in a simple braid accented with small bells that made music with she moved. She moved with a cocky swagger of someone quite confident in themselves and even carried a strange curved sword at her side that Tormund had never seen before.

Forget the giant blonde woman, Tormund wanted the ebony-haired warrioress.

* * *

With the rest of their armies arrived, the final plan for fighting against the Dead's army could be made. The North was still waiting for Cersei’s army to come, but that was a river that could be crossed over another time.

Jon hated the formality of being seen as ‘King of the North,’ but in his heart, he knew that it was the right thing. With him as King, he would be seen as Daenerys’s equal, and thus the two of them could marry. Daenerys herself agreed to it, but at the same time, her anger against him still burned strong, and she wasn’t the only one.

Even Ghost seemed to turn against him. His formally loyal direwolf preferred to spend his time in Daenerys’s chambers, never leaving her side when she moved about the castle. He growled as anyone expect for Daenerys’s closest advisors, and a couple of times Jon himself. Arya also seemed slowly defecting to Daenerys’s side, acting as if she knew something about the Dragon Queen that Jon didn’t. It didn’t matter, Sansa was always close by, telling Jon that some minor lord needed him, or a letter needed his seal for something.

Settling into the duties of a King was something Jon never thought he’d do, yet here it was.

One evening, Jon found himself in the Winterfell crypts, lighting a candle for his father, Eddard Stark.

“I wonder what you’d think of us,” Jon said aloud. “Your eldest daughter, Lady of Winterfell. Your younger daughter, an assassin. Your middle son a magic-user. Your bastard a king.”

“He would be proud of you, I know it,” a familiar voice said behind Jon.

Jon whipped around, his hand on his sword, only to relax when he saw Sam approaching him. The two former Night’s Watchmen had hardly spent time together since Jon returned. Both had their separate duties, duties that hardly ever had any cross over outside of war meetings. Still, Jon greeted his friend with a warm smile and a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Samwell said, his face red from the many stairs. “I know I’m not supposed to be down here.”

Jon grasped his friend tightly. “It doesn’t matter. You’re one of my oldest friends, Sam. You’re more than welcome here.”

Jon smiled at his friend, but Sam’s gloomy face made the smile melt away. “Sam? What’s wrong? Gilly? Is she alright?”

Tears began to spill down Sam’s cheeks. “Did… Did you know?” he stammered.

“Know what?” Jon asked, confused.

“D-Daenerys…” Sam said, his lip trembling. “She… She executed my father,… and my brother. They were her prisoners, and she ordered their execution.”

Jon’s hand slowly dropped to his sides. Yes, he knew this. Daenerys told him when she returned from attacking the Lannister and Tarly forces back in the Reach. He understood why she did it; of course, they were at war.

“Yes…” Jon said slowly. “I… I know… How did… how did you find out?”

“I just came from talking to her, and Ser Mormont in the library!” Sam exclaimed. “And you didn’t think to tell me!”

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” Jon whispered. “I am…”

“My… My Father, I might understand,” Sam said. “But my brother?!”

“Sam, she was at war,” Jon pointed out. “They no doubt were trying to kill her… Listen to me, Sam, we need to end this war.”

“Would you have done it?” Sam blurted out, his eyes shining with tears.

“What?” Jon asked.

“Would you have killed my father and my brother?!” Sam demanded.

“If we were at war?” Jon argued back. “Yes! I would have! If they were fighting to kill me, then yes, I would have! What would you have wanted, Sam? For them to kill her in return? I’ve executed men who’ve disobeyed me.”

“And you’ve also spared men too!” Son argued.

“Daenerys gave them a choice,” Jon said. “She asked them to take the Black. She asked for the younger Tarly to live, and his father takes the Black. Both refused, Sam. She did not wish to destroy another House, yet she had no choice.”

“You spared thousands of wildlings when they refused to kneel!” Sam argued.

“I wasn’t a king then!” Jon snapped. “I wasn’t fighting a war then!”

“But you’ve always been a king!” Sam exclaimed, finally letting out the secret he had been struggling to hold in.

Jon took a step back as if the words were a physical blow. “What?”

“You’ve always been a king, Jon,” Sam continued. “And I’m not talking about the King of the North. I’m talking about the king of the bloody Seven Kingdoms!”

“You’re mad!” Jon said.

“I’m not mad. You can ask your brother, Bran,” Sam said. “I found a High Septon’s diary when I was in Old Town. Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia Martell and married Lyanna Stark. They are your parents. Not Eddard Stark and some random woman you don’t know. You, Jon, are the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. Your name is Aegon Targaryen.”

Jon felt as if the air had been sucked from his lungs as Sam’s words settled upon him. This… this couldn’t be… all his life Jon was the ‘great wolf bastard,’ the single stain upon Eddard Stark’s blinding honor. This… this couldn’t be true.

“I don’t believe you,” Jon whispered.

“You can ask Bran,” Sam pressed. “He ‘saw’ Rhaegar and Lyanna on their wedding day. They loved each other, the war that killed your House was built on a lie, Jon. I… I mean, Aegon.”

“My father… Eddard Stark was the most honorable man I have ever met,” Jon whispered. “Are you telling me that a man like that, lied to me all my life?”

“Eddard Stark promised your mother that he’d always protect you,” Sam said. “And he did. If Robert found out, he would have murdered you the moment he saw you. You’re… You’re the true king. Daenerys is the fraud.”

The insult upon Daenerys snapped Jon out of his daze, and he looked to his friend with glazing fury eyes.

“What did you just say?” he growled.

“Daenerys… her claim for the Iron Throne is built upon nothing,” Sam explained. “You are the true king. You’re older, and you are the son of Rhaegar. That makes her the usurper.”

“I… I am the King of the North,” Jon stammered. “Daenerys is the Queen…”

“She shouldn’t be,” Sam said, his voice trembling through his tears.

“You’re speaking treason!” Jon exclaimed.

“It’s the truth!” Sam argued. “You gave up your crown in the beginning for her. Do you believe she would do the same for you?”

“Are you soft in the head, Sam?” Jon asked. “She is risking her armies, her dragons, her own life, to save ours. I would think that you, of all people, would see her worth.”

“J-Jon… Sam stammered, only for Jon to raise his hand for silence.

Jon shook his head. “T-Tell no one, what you just told me. If you believe that I’m the true king of Westeros, then I command you to do. Tell no one.”

He turned to leave, only for Sam’s voice to make him stop.

“Will you tell Her?” Sam asked.

Jon bit his tongue to stop the words forming on it before gathering his dignity, and left.

Meanwhile, in a hill overlooking Winterfell, the full moon reflected off the golden hand of Jaime Lannister. The former Lannister General sat on his horse, his begrudged sellsword ally, Bronn. Behind them were no more than two hundred men, Lannister soldiers Jaime had managed to ‘steal’ from under Cersei's nose.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Bronn grumbled, taking a long swig of wine from his skin.

Jamie took a deep breath to gather himself. “Too late to turn back now… We’re here. Hopefully, they won’t kill us.”

“Yet…” Bronn added.


	9. IX. The Lion rests within a Dragon’s Den

It was as if Jaime was looking at Rhaella reincarnated.

The silver-haired woman sitting before Jaime, her violet eyes burning with hatred and anger, was his beloved queen's spitting image.

_‘I was a poor excuse of a Kingsguard,’_ Jaime thought to himself. _‘I claimed to hold my oath to heart, yet I could protect the woman who needed me most.’_

Everyone, high and lowborn, Northern and Essosi, man and woman; all had been crammed into the Winterfell Great Hall for this.

Jaime stood in front of the main table, Daenerys taking the primary seat of honor, Jon to her right, and Sansa to her left. For once, both parties weren’t divided but instead were mixed. Dothraki sat next to members of House Manderly, and Wildlings were with Unsullied and Meereenese. Even Arya and Bran sat nearby. Everyone wanted to hear and see this.

“When I was a child,” Daenerys began, her voice loud and clear, cold as ice. “My brother would tell me a bedtime story. About the man who had murdered our Father. Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor.” She gripped the armrests of her chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “He told me other stories as well. Such all the things we would do to that man when we returned to Westeros and took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasp.”

Jaime felt a lump form in his throat, his green eyes looking down to the cobbled ground, then back to Daenerys Targaryen. Even in anger, she was so much like Rhaella…

Jaime had never seen Rhaella ever become angry or cross. He only saw her happy, and then later, very, very sad. Growing up at court, Jaime remembered being in love with Rhaella since he was a small boy and how he took pride in knowing he’d be a Kingsguard, which meant he would be with her. But no, after all his years of service, Jaime couldn’t protect his Queen from the one person in the world he had no power over Aerys.

“Your sister promised her armies to our cause,” Daenerys continued, then spread her hands. “I recall you bringing no more than two hundred men, maximum. Along with one man, with one hand. What happened to the thousands that House Lannister boasted of having at its command? It appears your sister lied to me. Lied to us.”

Sansa couldn’t stop herself from looking at Daenerys out of the corner of her eye. This was the first time she had heard Daenerys use that term. She had always thought Daenerys thought herself above everyone, but she grouped herself with the North in her icy words to Jaime Lannister.

_‘As if she viewed herself apart of it…’_ Sansa thought. _‘Or… as if it belonged to her.’_

Jaime took a deep breath before answering. “That’s because they aren’t coming. My sister isn’t sending her armies North. She lied to me, as well. The men I brought with me are whom you could consider as ‘stolen.’ They left, knowing that they’d never be able to show their faces in King’s Landing or Casterly Rock ever again.”

Daenerys turned her burning eyes to Tyrion, the Dwarf hanging his head to not look into them. Both Lannister brothers knew that their heads were on the chopping block here, together.

“She has Euron Greyjoy’s Fleet and 20,000 fresh troops, right from the Golden Company,” Jaime continued. “Combined, they’ll be more than enough to pick off whoever survives. Even if we defeat the dead.”

“‘We’?” Daenerys repeated, scoffing. “There is no ‘we’ here, Ser. Why should we, the North, believe you?”

Once again, Sansa snuck a look at Daenerys. There it was again. The Dragon Queen had included herself with the North.

_‘Maybe it’s because she is thinking of us as her own… not just an object.’_

“I promised to fight for the living,” Jaime retorted. “And I intend to keep that promise.”

Daenerys face was a sharp as flint. “You are a Lannister, and your promises have the same value as cow dung.”

The assembled masses as chuckled at her cheeky retort.

Jaime looked to Tyrion, desperate for help. The Dwarf already knew from the look in Daenerys’s eye that he was on thin ice, and if he stepped so much as an inch out of line, he would be executed just as his brother might be. Still, Tyrion owed Jaime his life and took the risk.

“Your Grace, please,” Tyrion said, standing to his feet. “I know my brother and…”

“Like you knew your sister?” Daenerys hissed.

Tyrion flinched, seeing the burning rage of the Dragon before him, but still pressing on.

“He came here, Your Grace,” Tyrion continued. “Knowing how he’d be received, knowing that everyone would demand his head…”

“And why shouldn’t we?” a Northern Lord demanded. “House Lannister would be more than happy to murder us, our wives, and our children if they got the chance!”

“They’ve already done much worse!” another Northern Lady yelled out. “We already have two of their heirs! Best send their heads to their bitch of a sister!”

The crowds all murmured with the agreement, nodding as well.

“Why else would he come here, unless he wasn’t telling the truth?!” Tyrion asked, shouting to have his voice heard.

“Perhaps he’s waiting for his little brother to vouch for him,” Daenerys asked. “Make us believe he’s an ally. Right up until the slits all of our throats. End the war quite easily for your sister.”

“You’re right,” Sansa said aloud, surprising everyone. “We can’t trust him. He attacked my father in the streets. His son murdered my father. He actively worked to destroy my House, just as he did yours.”

Daenerys’s eyebrows shot up. She could believe what she was saying. Was Sansa… agreeing with her? Honestly, there were gods then.

“So,” Jon said, speaking aloud. “The main question is, what will we do with him?”

“The same as he did to Ours,” Sansa suggested. “Execute him.”

Jaime frantically turned his eyes to Tyrion, who then looked to Daenerys, desperate for help.

Daenerys looked at Jaime. It was as if all her youth's rage and suffering were in a physical form, standing in front of her. It would be easy, commanding for Jaime’s head to be separated from his shoulders. No, it would be better if he burned, that would send a message. And yet…

Under the table, Daenerys’s hand went to her stomach, where her child was growing. Hidden under her thick robes, no one could see her stomach's small curve, and for that, she was grateful. She was almost four moons, and Daenerys knew she couldn’t hide her pregnancy for much longer.

_‘I need to build a better world for my child…’_ Daenerys thought, sneaking a look at Jon. _‘For… our child.’_

“It would be easy to do…” Jon was saying, interrupting Daenerys from her thoughts. “I will be quick and…”

“No,” Daenerys said aloud.

All eyes turned to her, Sansa arched an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

“I said, no, we aren’t going to execute him,” Daenerys repeated, looking to Jaime. “Yet. No one deserves his head on a platter more than I. As the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I command that you, Jaime Lannister, will be placed on trial for your crimes.

“I, His Grace Jon Snow, and Lady Sansa Stark will be your judges. We will weigh what you have done, and in the end, shall pass judgment for your fate. Does anyone disagree?”

Of course, no one disagreed with this. Who wouldn’t want to see a Lannister placed on trial for many, many, many crimes against all who wasn’t a Lannister? Some of the lower born Northerner’s wondered if he would meet his death by dragon fire. A sword was too good for him.

“I do not,” Jon said, looking to Sansa. “Sister?”

“Neither do I,” Sansa said. “We will hold the trial at fight light.”

“Until then, put him in the dungeons,” Daenerys ruled. “And his men locked in their barracks with the Unsullied keeping guard.”

She stood to her feet, signaling the end of this meeting, and everyone else followed. Daenerys turned to Jon, but the Northern King wouldn’t meet her eyes, and walked quickly away, pretending as if she wasn’t there. Daenerys hid her hurt and instead put on a blank face, giving Sansa a small nod, who left with her ladies.

The look of pain upon Daenerys’s face was like a stab in Jon’s heart, but the North's King steeled himself. He couldn’t be distracted from where he was going. A servant had slipped a note into his hand before the Great Hall meeting, telling Jon that a certain silversmith wanted to talk to him. Jon wanted to get to this Silversmith before anyone knew he was missing.

After changing into plainer clothes, Jon got a horse and rode down to Wintertown, arriving quickly at the Silversmith’s shop.

“Do you have it?” Jon asked, leaping from the horse’s back.

“Yes, milord,” the Silversmith said, nodding.

He went into one of the back rooms and reappeared with a box, handing it to Jon. Opening the box, Jon’s face lit up as he inspected the Silversmith's work, nodding with approval.

“And our agreement?” Jon asked, looking to the Silversmith with an arched eyebrow.

“I shall not tell a soul,” the Silversmith swore. “A Northern always keeps his honor.”

Jon nodded and took a small pouch, giving it to the man before going back to his horse, tucking the box into his pocket.

* * *

Tormund’s boots crunched against the icy ground as he smoothed his beard and tussled his hair. He wanted to look his best. The Free Folk Chieftain was casually walking through the Dothraki camp with a fresh deer kill draped over his shoulders. He was taking to Qhono as a ‘gift,’ but really, it was nothing more than a way into Qhono’s inner camp for Tormund to see Asheffi.

Qhono sat in front of the largest tent, a bronze-skinned woman sitting behind him, unbraiding his hair. Tormund thought it weird that a man would grow his hair so long. Yet, Tormund was not one to question anyone’s culture. Anyone who wasn’t a Kneeler was a friend of his.

Dropping the fresh deer in front of Qhono, Tormund beamed with pride and said, “For you.”

Qhono looked at the deer with an arched eyebrow, then looked to Tormund. Initially, the Dothraki bloodridder didn’t know what to think of Tormund and his people. He felt that they would look at him and his people with disdain and mistrust like these so-called ‘civilized people’ did. Yet, the Free Folk almost felt like they could belong to a brother tribe, Qhono felt.

Despite the language barrier, the two groups had a similar culture built on similar values of strength, violence, and respect. It didn’t take long for affection and understanding to form between them, although Qhono tried to keep Asheffi away from this… Tormund.

It was apart of the Dothraki culture for men to steal the women they desired to be their wives. Some of which Qhono realized was the same in the Free Folk culture. Already there had been two ‘kidnappings,’ one when a Dothraki man took a Free Folk woman, and the other when a Free Folk man took a Dothraki woman. Their Great Khaleesi had arrived, worried that war would break out between the two groups, but instead, the opposite happened, and both couples seemed to be happy.

Qhono almost chuckled to himself at the thought of this Tormund trying to kidnap his little sister. Asheffi would most likely kill him, not on purpose, of course, but because she was expected to fight. The young female Dothraki was a highly skilled warrior in her own right, trained by Qhono himself, who, in turn, had been trained by his father. His father was so skilled, the only Khal who could defeat him was the infamous Drogo.

“You… have our… thanks…” Qhono said slowly, still getting used to saying ‘thank you,’ as there was no such word in the Dothraki language.

“It’s nothin’,” Tormund said, puffing out his chest, looking around. “I was hoping… to see Asheffi.”

“She is with her herd,” Qhono replied. “A mare is with foal.”

“Where is this… herd?” Tormund asked, trying to sound casual.

Qhono frowned, considering his next words. While he didn’t care who his sister usually fucked, the protective older brother part of him was coming out. Usually, all men who desired to lay with his sister had to at least as his permission. This Tormund, Qhono believed, wouldn’t do it. Still, he had to do everything in his power to prevent Asheffi from being carried off.

“At the southern edge of the camp,” Qhono replied, nodding his head in the direction.

Tormund grinned and quickly rushed in that direction. The Dothraki nodded and gave him the casual glance, but no one bothered him. It wasn’t long before Tormund found this corner of the camp, his eyebrows raised when he saw that this herd wasn’t a small number of horses. There looked to be hundreds, all casually eating hay, sleeping, mind their own business.

Horses were rare. Beyond the Wall, only the strongest chieftains had them because of the amount of care that went into them. For a woman to have hundreds of horses clearly showed her worth and status in this tribe of people.

It wasn’t hard for Tormund to find Asheffi, the Dothraki woman kneeling next to a pregnant mare, whispering to it in her language. The mare was charcoal black, with a white star upon her forehead and matching ‘socks’ on her legs.

“She’s beautiful,” Tormund said, starting the conversation.

Asheffi didn’t look up, but her lips curved into a small smirk. “She is mine. In khalsar, horse must match rank of ridder.”

Secretly, Asheffi had been learning this Westerosi language known as ‘Common Tongue.’ Her brother hated it, as he did not see the point in her doing so, but Asheffi had her reasons…

“And… what does yer horse say about you?” Tormund asked.

Slowly, Asheffi stood up, her eyes sliding from her nare to the giant in furs before her. “What do you think?”

Tormund looked to the mare, then back to Asheffi. He wasn’t one for flirting. Hell, the Free Folkway of flirting was to go hunting together, then fuck in celebration if it was successful. Tormund had been with plenty of Free Folk women and even a she-bear, as he so boasted, but for some reason, this Dothraki woman made him trip over his words.

“I think… she is as wild and untamable, as her rider,” Tormund finally said.

Asheffi tossed her head haughtily, laughing. “Clever answer.”

Tormund grinned. “I have been called many things. Clever… that’s a new one.”

“What would you like me to call you?” Asheffi asked.

Tormund took a step forward. “How about calling it out instead?”

Asheffi’s eyebrows quirked. “That invitation to your tent?”

“No, it’s for you to have my cock,” Tormund said.

Asheffi’s lips twitched. She knew exactly what he meant, but wanted to continue this game. “I come to your tent… if brother gives permission.”

Tormund’s expected face dropped, his stomach feeling as if it was tying itself in a knot. Truthfully, just standing so close to her was getting him hard, uncomfortably so. He expected her to be hungry for him, just as he was hungry for her, but instead, she shut him down.

“I… I see…” Tormund stammered.

Before turning away, Asheffi threw him a sideways smirk and wink, before giving her mare her full attention.

Tormund’s shoulders drooped as he walked back to the Free Folk section of the camping ground. This was going to be more challenging than he thought.

* * *

“I don’t see why you’re doing this,” Sansa grumbled.

Arya rolled her eyes, her boots silent as always upon the cobbled halls. Unlike Sansa’s, which clicked loudly and raked Arya’s nerves. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with the daughter of the man who killed Uncle and Grandfather, and if having a relationship with our Brother?” Sansa commented.

Arya frowned. “You are still going to hold that over her head, even when you know she had nothing to do with it?”

“You’re right…” Sansa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I need… I need to stop thinking that… saying that…”

It seemed at times the worst of Littlefinger and Cersei’s lessons would appear in Sansa’s mind, making her believe in the worst of everything. Littlefinger even told Sansa to do so, think of anything and everyone, think of what their intentions would be. After years of watching Cersei, Sansa believed herself a master of this… ‘game of thrones.’

But that was before Littlefinger sold her to the Boltons.

That was before Jon saved her.

That was before they reclaimed their home.

That was before this Daenerys Targaryen had come.

Sansa knew she should be grateful. All the North should be thankful for this Dragon Queen and her armies. After all, she came when the current so-called ‘true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms’ would rather stay in her castle and let her kingdom be overrun by the living dead.

But the North was stubborn, and they always remembered. Daenerys’s father had killed a beloved Warden of the North, as well as his heir. Daenerys’s brother had kidnapped and raped that same Warden’s only daughter.

The hard truth was that they would never accept Daenerys, no matter what she did. When this was all over, when the dead army was defeated, Sansa knew that chaos would once again reign. The Northern Lords would refuse to help Daenerys take her throne, to stop Cersei, as they wouldn’t believe it was their problem. They would push and push Daenerys until she unleashed her dragons upon them all.

At least… Sansa hoped that wouldn’t happen. Who would want to rule over ashes?

What were Littlefingers words? ‘Chaos is a ladder,’ of which he planned to climb upon and end up sitting on the Iron Throne. The fool had no real chance of that, Sansa knew, but his words and lessons echoed in her mind.

Arya stopped in front of Daenerys’s chamber door, four Unsullied standing at attention, their eyes fastened upon the Stark sister.

“We need to talk to the Queen,” Arya said.

“What do you want with Her Grace?” one of the Guards asked.

“I want to give her a gift,” Arya said, gesturing to the object under her arm.

The Unsullied looked at each other, weighing the danger the two women possessed. The short one had an open sword and dagger at her hip, while the taller one appeared not to be carrying anything. Still, they did not trust these Westerosi with their Queen.

Talking among themselves in their tongue, one of the Unsullied disappeared inside of Daenerys’s chambers. Moments later, he reappeared with Missandei, Daenerys’s closest and most valued friend.

“Her Grace is not here, at the moment,” Missandei revealed. “But I can take the gift and give it to her when she returns.”

Arya clutched the object close to her chest. “No, I want to give it to her.”

“You’re not going to convince her otherwise,” Sansa sighed. “She’s stubborn as a mule.”

Missandei frowned and looked to the Unsullied who had summoned her. “Find our Queen,” she said in their language, before turning back to the Stark girls and switching to Common Tounge. “Then, I shall invite you inside. She should return soon.”

Arya nodded and walked casually within the chambers, although Sansa was slow in her steps. Her body was tense, her eyes sharp for any sign of danger. There would never be full trust before both parties, Sansa knew, although Jon hoped it would eventually. However, Arya seemed perfectly calm and took a seat next to the crackling fire.

“Where did your Queen go?” Sansa asked to Missandei.

“To inspect her soldiers,” Missandei replied, although Arya caught the way her eyes shifted at the question.

Unlike Sansa, Arya could quickly tell when someone was lying. After her training with the Faceless Men, it was a simple task. Missandei was lying to them, but it wasn’t malicious, Arya could tell, but it was a lie none the less.

“Might I offer you some tea?” Missandei asked.

“Tea?” Sansa repeated. “What is that?”

“It’s a type of drink… think flavored water, that has either a calming effect or energizing,” Missandei replied. “It’s mostly found in Essos, so I’m not surprised you wouldn’t have it here.”

“Anything other than watered wine,” Arya said, nodding. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have some as well,” Sansa said, knowing she couldn’t refuse without being deemed impolite.

Missandei nodded and turned to her task.

Meanwhile, in Winterfell's dungeons, Daenerys took a deep breath as she nodded to one of the Unsullied soldiers she had brought with her. The Unsullied held a torch in his hand and led his Queen into the small, cramped cell. Daenerys clasped her hands protectively over her pregnant stomach, ready to defend herself and her baby if any harm came.

Finally, they saw Him.

Jaime sat in the corner, casually eating the rations brought to him mere minutes before. At the sight of the torchlight, Jaime leaped to his feet, his eyes taking in Daenerys. For a moment, a heavy silence laid before them, neither speaking, neither seemingly breathing until Jaime couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

“I’m guessing you’re here… for my execution?” Jaime asked.

“No,” Daenerys said softly.

“You’re here… to have my smothered in my sleep?” Jaime asked.

“No,” Daenerys repeated.

“Then what do you want from me?” Jaime asked.

“I want to hear it from you,” Daenerys replied. “I want to hear it from you… on why you murdered my father.”

Jaime sighed, sitting down in the uncomfortable chair in the corner. “I’m sure you’ve already heard this story a thousand times.”

“And I will hear it a thousand and one,” Daenerys retorted. “From the man who slit his throat.”

Jaime didn’t have any choice. Besides, what was the harm he figured? She would have him killed after his so-called ‘trial’ anyway, what was the harm in telling this story one more time?

“I remember hearing the clanging of swords, the screams of women, the smell of smoke,” Jaime began, leaning his head against the wall. “My father had begun his Sack of King’s Landing and was heading to the palace. Your…Your Father saw this as well. He commanded me to go and prove my loyalty to him by bringing him my father’s head.”

“And you couldn’t do it?” Daenerys asked.

“He was my Father,” Jaime replied. “No matter how terrible he was… he was my Father.” He took a deep breath. “I pretended that I would do as the King had said, and as I turned a corner, I heard him speak with his Pyromancers. He ordered his men to ‘light them.’”

“Light them?” Daenerys repeated.

“Wildfyre,” Jaime said. “He was obsessed with it. He loved to watch people burn. And when they died, he ‘paid a visit,’ to your Mother. The last time this happened was seven months before the Sack after his Hand at the time had displeased him. I remember hearing your mother’s screams, and feeling the lowest of the low, as I could not help her.”

“Why didn’t you?” Daenerys asked, her voice catching. “She was your Queen, and it was your duty as a Kingsguard to protect her.”

“But not from him,” Jaime replied. “I had vowed to protect your Mother from anything… but not her husband.”

Daenerys’s lip quivered, but she steeled herself, nodding for Jaime to continue his story.

“I listened,” Jaime continued. “As your Father commandeered his Pyromancers to light the barrels of wildfyre, he had ordered to be hidden all over the city. Under the Sept of Baelor, in the slums of Flea Bottom, under houses, schools. Even under the Red Keep itself. The words he said to his Pyromancer haunts me to this day _. ‘Burn them all,’_ he said _. ‘Burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds. They dared to wake the dragon, let them taste my flames.’_ ”

Daenerys’s cheeks were wet, although the Dragon Queen didn’t remember allowing her tears to fall. She wanted to turn away. She wanted to turn away and shut her ears. She wanted to believe Jaime’s words were lies. But they weren’t. She knew that.

“Continue…” Daenerys commanded.

“I had to make a choice,” Jaime said, doing as she ordered. “Protect hundreds of thousands of innocent people, all for the price of one man. It was not a hard decision to make. As your Father turned to walk back up his throne, I drew my sword and plunged it three times in his back. Then, I took my dagger and slit his throat for good measure. Just as I had finished, I turned my attention to the Pyromancers and hunted down everyone. I had killed the last one when I heard screams coming from one of the towers… Elia Martell’s screams. My Father had sent in the Mountain, and… you know the rest.”

“He raped and murdered her, then murdered her children,” Daenerys whispered, her arms wrapping even tighter around her waist to shield her unborn child from the same fate. “Why did you come here, tell me the truth.”

Jaime looked at her. “Because of you. You look so much like your mother. You even have her inner strength that I always admired. She was helping him, you know, Rhaegar, to overthrow your father. Rhaegar had grown up seeing his father abuse her, once they almost came to blows over Rhaella’s blackened eye. I admired both of them… and in the end, I failed in my oath as Kingsguard. I am without honor.”

“You… You don’t have to be,” Daenerys whispered. “You can regain it.”

“How do you suggest I do that?” Jaime scoffed. “Are you going to knight me again?”

“No,” Daenerys said, shaking her head. “You are going to regain it, but helping us in the battle against the dead. You brought two-hundred men, that is more than your sister has done.”

“She isn’t going to give up the throne, you know,” Jaime said. “The one thing that Cersei has wanted all her life was the ultimate power. Now that she has it, she isn’t going just to let it go. She believes the Iron Throne is hers.”

Daenerys glanced away, then back to him, weighing her option. “I just… I just might let her have it.”

Jaime sat up, his jaw-dropping. “What?”

“All I’ve ever wanted is a home, a place to live and for people to love me in return,” Daenerys confessed, her lip trembling. “But I don’t have that here… everyone hates me for something that isn’t my fault and refuses to see past it. All I want is to be accepted. I don’t belong here.”

“My father once told me, ‘The Lion does not bother itself with the opinions of the sheep,’” Jaime said. “Are you a sheep, Your Grace?”

“No,” Daenerys said, wiping away her tears. “I’m a Dragon.”

“Then be a dragon, and inspire both fear and awe by those you wish to rule,” Jaime said. “When the Dead come, unleash your fury upon them. I remember reading the tales of Aegon and his sister-wives. You’re the last of your House, make them proud, Your Grace.”

Daenerys let his words wash over her, remembering the words of Olenna Tyrell. She was the Dragon’s Daughter. It was time she acted like it. An Unsullied rushed over and whispered in her ear, Daenerys nodded to him before turning back to Jaime.

“Thank you, to the conversation, Ser Jaime,” Daenerys said.

Jaime nodded. “Before you go, tell me, are you going to tell him.”

Daenerys froze. “Tell who?”

“The ‘King of the North’ that you are carrying his child,” Jaime replied, only to chuckle when Daenerys opened her mouth to retort. “I know when a woman is with child. It’s a good thing, a child conceived out of love. I wish you the best, Your Grace.”

Daenerys said nothing, but instead turned on her heel, her Unsullied marching behind her.


	10. X. Judgement of the Seven

Daenerys made sure her face was calm, relaxed, and collected when she returned to her chambers, forcing herself to smile when the doors opened. Sansa and Arya stood to their feet the moments they heard the doors move. Sansa gave a respectable curtesy, and Arya bowed at the waist.

“I’m sorry for keeping you both waiting,” Daenerys said, raising them from their bows. “I didn’t know time had passed that quickly.”

“No, the fault is ours,” Sansa said. “We didn’t schedule this meeting with you. I’m sure as a queen; you’re very busy.”

Daenerys kept her calm mask, although she knew biting words when she heard them. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to give you this,” Arya said, holding up the object she had been clutching as if it was her very own baby.

Daenerys took the package and unwrapped it carefully. Her eyes widened at what lay inside. It was a sword. Daenerys believed the Westerosi term of it was called a longsword, yet the slender blade and lightness meant it was made for a woman's hand. The hilt was made of thick black leather, with a red cord wrapped around the grip, giving it the distinct colors of House Targaryen. The crossguard was made of dragonglass, but what made Daenerys’s heart stench the most was the pommel. A large red stone decorated it, and Daenerys could see a rough outline of her House sigil.

“I… I... I don’t know what to say…” Daenerys stammered.

Arya grinned. “You’ve been doing well enough in your lessons for me to believe you responsible enough for a real sword. No warrior should go into battle unarmed.”

“It’s a… interesting gift, I must say, Your Grace,” Sansa said, not knowing what else to say.

“I am forever grateful,” Daenerys said, looking to Arya. “Did you make it?”

Arya’s face grew red as she took her head. “No… a friend of mine made it.”

“A friend?” Daenerys repeated? “Then, who is he? I must thank him myself.”

Sansa looked to her sister, enjoying her apparent discomfort. “That’s going to be a bit… complicated, Your Grace. The man who made this… is one of Robert Baratheon’s bastards.”

Daenerys’s heart froze in her chest, her eyes snapping to look at the Stark Sisters. A muscle jerked in her cheek as she weighed in this information. She hadn’t expected the Usurper to have children; after all, it was known all his offspring with Cersei were products of her relationship with her brother. It wasn’t that long ago that Robert Baratheon had called for her head and Rhaego’s… her innocent, innocent child. It would be within her rights to demand this Bastard’s head, but Daenerys knew she wouldn’t.

“I do not hold children accountable for the sins of their parents,” Daenerys said softly. “If this Bastard is loyal to me, then that’s all that matters.”

“He is,” Arya said quickly, only for her face to turn red. “I mean… He is, he is loyal. He’s been overseeing the forging to weapons and the battlements. He even melted dragonglass into your sword, so you could kill wights if they come upon you.”

Daenerys looked down at the sword, noticing the swirls of silver and black in the razor-sharp blade for the first time. It almost mimicked the look of Valyrian steel, although Daenerys knew it wasn’t.

Daenerys turned to Arya. “Tell him thank you for me, please. I’ve never… gotten a gift before.”

Sansa arched an eyebrow. “But you’re a Queen. Surely you’ve been spoiled with presents all your life.”

Daenerys looked into those calculating blue eyes. “I wasn’t always a queen. Never before has anyone given me a gift without waiting for a chance to snatch it back. Nothing has ever truly been mine…”

“Which explains why you believe Westeros belongs to you,” Sansa mumbled under her breath, although it was loud enough for them all to hear.

Arya shot her sister a dark look that would strike fear into any man and opened her mouth to chastise Sansa, but Daenerys shook her head.

“No, no, let her speak her mind,” Daenerys said, putting the sword aside. “Tell me, Lady Sansa, why do you hate me so?”

“I don’t… I don’t hate you…” Sansa replied, her eyes hard.

“Then why don’t you like me?” Daenerys asked. “Or at least, desire to get to know me? I heard the North was a cold wasteland, but I heard its people were supposed to be among the most honorable. Yet all I’ve seen and felt is nothing but hatred.”

“It’s because we know you are manipulating everyone!” Sansa blurted out.

Arya’s eyebrows shot up, her jaw-dropping.

“Who said… I’m manipulating anything?” Daenerys asked. “Why… why should I?”

“Because you want the North,” Sansa replied. “Such as believing in that foolish alliance with Cersei.”

“I thought Tyrion knew his sister,” Daenerys retorted. “I thought her hatred of us would be minimal until we the dead were defeated.”

“Families are also complicated,” Arya said, looking between both women. “Ours currently have been.”

A heavy silence fell over the three of them. Neither wanted to speak first, then again neither of them knew what really to say.

“We have a lot in common, all of us,” Daenerys whispered. “We know what it’s like to lead people who believe themselves right… only to not be so. Let alone hate the thought of accepting a woman’s rule.” She gave them a small smile. “But we’ve all done a damn good job of it, from what I can tell.”

Sansa couldn’t stop herself from smiling back a bit at the praise. No one could resist the stroking of their pride.

“And yet…” Daenerys continued. “You still hate me. I understand your hatred because of my Father. But I am not him, and I don’t know how many times I have to prove it to you, and your people. Please, tell me, what have I personally done to make you hate me so.”

Sansa looked down to her boots, then to Arya, then to the crackling fire, then back to Daenerys. Those blue eyes swirled with emotions and secrets, but when they flickered, Daenerys suddenly knew the proper matter.

“It’s Jon…” Daenerys whispered. “Isn’t it?”

“I’m sure he’s told you about his desire to marry you,” Sansa said. “Yet, you haven’t given him an answer.”

“Because I haven’t gotten time to think about it,” Daenerys replied. “I have to talk to Tyrion about the political side of it all and…”

“You mean, you desire to fully figure out how much power you’ll have,” Sansa said sharply.

“Sansa…” Arya whispered warningly.

“No, Arya,” Sansa said, turning to Daenerys. “You desire the truth, Your Grace? I’ll tell you. He loved you. He has told us, and we can see it. But that’s exactly the problem. If we can see it, then so can the other Northern Lords and Ladies.”

“Why should they matter?” Daenerys asked. “If we marry, then Jon will still be king.”

Sansa shook her head. “You do not understand me. They want Jon, King of the North. They don’t you, as our Queen. All they want is Jon. They won’t recognize you as anything… but his wife, never the queen.”

Daenerys’s fingers curled in her lap. “And… if we have children?”

“Then they will recognize the child,” Sansa said. “But you… they’ll never accept or recognize you as anything. The North is tired of wars. They are tired of being told what to do by the South. Jon and I made an oath when Winterfell was ours again. We agreed that the North would be independent no matter what happened, and we’d never lose it again.”

Daenerys was struggling to keep her inner emotions hidden from the Stark sisters. Her queenly mask was threatening to slip, Jon hadn’t told her this. Jon had made it seem as if by crowning himself King of the North, they would be seen as equals and rule together. She didn’t know that the North’s hatred of her as this deep, that they could exclude her from everything in favor of Jon and the child she carried. They would erase her from history itself, if possible.

“And… if Jon commands them otherwise?” Daenerys asked. “If Jon commands them to show me respect.”

“They will show your respect to your face,” Sansa said. “But in their hearts, it’ll be the opposite. The South has left a blackened stain upon us, who knows how long it’ll take to be fixed?”

Daenerys felt a lump form in her throat but refused to let the tears filling her eyes spill. “Well then,” she said. “You’ve given me much to think about. I believe it’s time for you both to leave. I must sleep and think about the trial in the morning.”

Arya stood to her feet and tossed Daenerys an apologetic look. “Sleep well, Your Grace. Also, now that I’ve finished my end of our bargain…”

Daenerys gave Arya a small smile. “After we defeat the Army of the Dead, I promise you that I’ll take you for that dragon ride.”

Arya’s face beamed with excitement as she gave Daenerys a respectable bow, followed by Sansa’s curtsy. The two sisters left Daenerys’s chambers together, but the two hadn’t gotten far before Arya turned on her sister.

“You going to tell me what the fuck was that?” Arya hissed through clenched teeth.

“Our old Septa would box your ears if she heard you use such language,” Sansa sassed.

“The bitch is dead, what’s she going to do to me?” Arya asked, tossing her head. “You were such a bitch back there, you know.”

“You call it being a bitch, I call it speaking the truth,” Sansa replied. “She had to know how the North sees her. They are never going to accept her, no matter how hard she tries. She’ll do us all a favor if she just… left us all alone.”

Arya crossed her arms. “She makes Jon happy, Sansa, he loves her, and she loves him. I swear if his heart gets broken, and she leaves before I get my dragon ride; I’ll never forgive you, and neither will Jon.”

* * *

Daenerys picked at the food that Missandei had brought her, although she knew that she should eat it. Her babe was growing every day and needed nourishment. But after her ‘talk’ with Sansa and Arya Stark, Daenerys couldn’t raise her fork to her lips.

She knew that the North hated her, but Daenerys thought it wouldn’t matter as long as Jon loved her. She felt that they would accept her once they were married, once she gave Jon and heir. But no… she was wrong. The only thing the North saw her as was an Outsider, some new conqueror who wanted their allegiance, who tried to use them, to abuse them.

‘Isn’t that who I am?’ Daenerys thought as she picked at her chicken. ‘Aren’t I just a conqueror who wants them to bend the knee…?’

Her lips quivered as a tear slid down her cheek, falling into her tea. This baby was making her emotional, Daenerys remembered when she wouldn’t ever cry about something like this. And yet the thought of the people of the man she loved hating her, and possibly her child, was enough to make rivers flow down her cheeks.

‘What if this child comes out looking like me? Would they hate it because it doesn’t look like the Northerner? What’s to stop them from believing it’ll be ‘mad’ like it’s grandfather…’

The theories were endless, yet they always came to a singular revelation: Westeros would never be Daenerys’s home.

That’s all she wanted. That’s all Daenerys ever wanted. A home. A family. Someone to love. Someone to love her. She deserved it, didn’t she? Yet it seemed, time and time again, this dream always escaped her grasp.

‘Westeros will never be my home. I need to stop… I need to stop pretending that it might be. I never belonged here.’

But the question them came on where could she go? She couldn’t go to Valyria, although in a way it rightfully belonged to her as the Freehold’s Last Heir. But it was destroyed, nothing but ruins, so where then could she go?

The whisper of the door opening made Daenerys look up to see Jon’s gloved hand pushing open the secret passageway. She said nothing as he closed it behind him, standing mere feet in front of her. An awkward silence laid before them, as neither of them had spoken informally since their argument a couple of weeks ago. Finally, Jon broke the tension and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For what I said… for ignoring you for so long… I shouldn’t have compared you to your Father. You’re nothing like him. I understand if you want to feed me to Drogon, I deserve it. What I said was foolish.”

“No, you don’t…” Daenerys sighed. “And I forgive you, Jon. We… we both have been acting irrationally if I’m honest. We need to stop acting like children. We’re adults. We’re rulers. People look up to us, Jon, so we have to be a unified front, or else this relationship isn’t going to work.”

Jon’s eyes flicked briefly before he took a deep breath. “Speaking of our relationship… Dany… I have to tell you something.”

Daenerys stood up, her brow wrinkled with confusion. “What’s the matter? Did… Did something happen?”

Jon bit his bottom lip. He couldn’t beat around the bush. He needed to tell her the truth here and now. “Not… Not really.” He took her hands in his. “But I want you to promise me that no matter what I tell you, that you’ll never look at me differently. Alright?”

“Jon, you’re scaring me,” Daenerys said.

“Promise me, Dany!” Jon begged.

“I promise!” Daenerys said quickly. “What’s going on?”

Jon took a deep breath. “It was all a lie,” he began.

“What was all a lie,” Daenerys asked. “Jon, what are you talking about?”

“Robert’s Rebellion,” Jon said. “It was built on all a lie. Rhaegar didn’t kidnap or rape Lyanna. They ran away together. They loved each other, they married.”

Daenerys was confused. “Jon… Jon, what are you talking about? You don’t know that…”

“But I do know that,” Jon pressed. “I know it to be true. My brother saw it, and Sam has a High Septon’s private diary. He annulled Rhaegar’s marriage to Elia Martell, and married him to Lyanna Stark.” He pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist. “They loved each other, Dany. Lyanna… Lyanna died giving birth to his son…”

Daenerys stiffened. “His… His son…? How could she…?”

Looking into his eyes, Daenerys finally grasped what Jon was telling her.

“You…” she whispered.

“Me,” Jon said, nodding. He could feel he try to pull away, but he held her close. “Please…” he begged. “Don’t… don’t pull away from me.”

Daenerys froze in place. “That means that you and I are…”

Everything as clicking into place. Her family's destruction wasn’t caused by her evil brother, but rather a man who had lost and hated losing. Rhaegar had stolen both the heart and body of Lyanna Stark, and Robert Baratheon was nothing more than a selfish bastard who had lost his favorite toy.

“Why didn’t they tell anyone?” Daenerys asked. “Why didn’t they tell anyone they were in love?”

“They most likely were afraid,” Jon said. “Rhaegar was already married, and Lyanna betrothed to another. I believe Rhaegar thought he could easily put down the rebellion. Then he could come out and explain everything. But when he died, Lyanna was all alone, and she knew Robert would murder me if he knew.”

“So, she gave you to her brother to raise,” Daenerys finished.

Jon nodded. “Exactly. Eddard Stark raised me because his sister asked him too. He endured the shame and ridicule of others, believing he fathered a bastard for almost two decades. But in truth, he was the most loyal of men.”

“What… what does this mean for us?” Daenerys whispered.

Jon looked down at her, seeing her violet eyes filled with tears that she had fought to hold back, now falling freely. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… what does this mean for us, our relationship?” Daenerys asked. “Am… Am I alone again?”

Jon froze, Maester Aemon’s words ringing in his ears. ‘A Targaryen all alone in the world is a terrible thing…’ No, No Jon couldn’t abandon her, he couldn’t leave her alone.

“No,” he whispered, cupping Daenerys’s cheeks, staring intensely into her eyes. “My love, you are not alone. I will admit that at first, I did not know what to do. But then I remembered my oath to you when we first got here. I swore that I’d never leave you, Dany, no matter what happened. And I will keep that promise.”

Slowly, Jon pulled his hands away as he lowered himself, dropping to his knees. Reaching inside his pocket, Jon took out a small box and opened it, holding out to her. Inside laid a small ring, made of silver. It was carved into the form of the three-headed Targaryen dragon, but the middle head was replaced with a wolf, signifying Jon’s stark heritage.

“Daenerys Targaryen,” Jon said. “I have loved you since we first met. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

Daenerys’s heart leaped into her chest. Never in her life did she think this would happen, that a man would ask for her hand. It’s always been the other way around, with people telling her what to do. But now…

“Jon…” Daenerys breathed. “What… What will the North say? You’re my nephew?”

“They’ve married within themselves to an even greater extent,” Jon retorted. “I don’t give a damn what they think Dany, all I want, all I will ever want, is you.”

Daenerys wiped the happy tears from her eyes. “I… I don’t know what to say…”

“How about yes?” Jon chuckled.

“I want too,” Daenerys said. “I want too, but can… can I think about my answer…”

Jon was secretly saddened that she didn’t immediately say yes, but he knew that it was logical for her to think about this big step. Still, he placed the ring in her hands and closed Daenerys’s fingers over them. “Take all the time you want, my love.”

Daenerys put the ring on the table before pulling Jon to his feet. Her lips pressed to his passionate, her fingers combing through his glossy black locks. He loved her… he wanted to marry her… he was her family… she wasn’t alone in this world…

Jon began to yank at Daenerys’s clothes, but the Dragon Queen chuckled softly and pulled away.

“I want you as well,” Daenerys said. “But… tonight, I am a bit tired. Can you hold me? Please?”

Jon’s hardened cock was painful in his pants; all he wanted at that moment was to be inside her. But, he respected her wishes and nodded.

The couple undressed and climbed into her bed, Jon’s arms wrapping protectively around Daenerys as he held her close.

“Jon?” Daenerys whispered in the darkness.

“Yes?” Jon said.

“If it comes to a choice between me… or your kingdom… which would you choose?” Daenerys asked.

Jon looked at her, being pulled into those violet eyes. “Why do you ask such a thing?”

“I… I’ve been thinking,” Daenerys confessed. “What if the North doesn’t accept me… Could you… give it to your sister—I believe she’s your cousin, not your sister—and come with me, where I go?”

Jon hadn’t thought of that and stopped himself before promising something he might not keep. “What is making you ask this?”

Daenerys quickly looked away. She had her answer. Jon would no doubt to the honorable thing, and that would be to put his people first. After all, it was what Daenerys would do. Yet a part of her wondered, if some way, for once Jon would be selfish and do what he wanted.

“Never mind,” Daenerys whispered, laying back down. “Forget I said anything. Goodnight, Jon.”

Jon felt as if his heart was being ripped from his chest, but decided to let the problem lay unanswered for another day.

However, as he held his lover close, Jon’s hands absent-mindedly slid down Daenerys’s body. He froze. At the lower part of Daenerys’s stomach, Jon felt it, the unmistakable early pregnancy curve. Jon had seen Catelyn Stark with child enough to know when a woman was pregnant, and from the shape, Jon figured Daenerys had to be around four months.

“Daenerys?” Jon whispered.

Daenerys didn’t move, and her soft snoring told Jon that she was fast asleep. Rather than wake her, Jon continued to gently stroke her belly, silent tears sliding down his cheeks.

She was carrying his child… The woman he loved, the woman he loved in all this world, was having his child.

Jon remembered the boat ride back to Dragonstone after she had saved him in the North when Daenerys told him that she could never bear a living child. The witch who had murdered her first husband and child didn’t know what she was talking about.

 _‘I’m going to be a father,’_ Jon thought, kissing Daenerys’s cheek, still stroking her belly. ‘ _I’m going to be a Father…’_

* * *

Jaime’s trial's morning came faster than Daenerys wanted, but even she couldn’t control time. Jon’s place by her side was empty like usual, but like always, a single winter rose laid upon his pillow. Slowly, Daenerys took it into her hands, a smile forming on her lips. Now it all made sense on why Jon was leaving them.

Oh, how Daenerys loved him… but she knew deep down that Jon would never choose her over his people. He was a king. It was his duty.

But that didn’t mean Daenerys couldn’t try and sway him to come with her when she left Westeros.

“Missandei?” Daenerys called out, rising from her bed.

Her Chief Advisor poked her head into Daenerys’s bedchamber. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Can you help me get dressed for the trial?” Daenerys asked. “We need to hurry.”

Missandei nodded and went to summon Daenerys’s handmaids. Igi was among them, although the Dothraki handmaiden still was shy and frightened of the world after her attack.

Today, Daenerys wanted to look every inch a Targaryen Queen. She was done trying to convince the North to like her. She was done trying to play nice. For Jon’s sake, she would try to give them one last chance. But if they didn’t accept her as a Targaryen Queen, then Daenerys knew what she had to do.

Rather than dress in the white furs she had been wearing since her arrival, Daenerys decided to wear her House colors. Missandei took out a thick black woolen dress, embroidered with glossy red thread. Over it when a formfitting black overcoat slashed with red leather and black fur around the neckline, hem, and wrists. Her black high heeled boots were thickly padded and tied with red laces, on her hands were red gloves. Over her right shoulder was Daenerys’s classic red cloak, the fabric of which mimicked dragon scales, and it was fastened with her silver three-headed dragon chain.

Missandei pulled Daenerys’s silver locks back into elaborate braids, looping them together and fastening them into a ‘crowned’ bun at Daenerys’s head. However, she did leave two long ringlets to cascade down the side of Daenerys’s face. At the top of Daenerys’s bun was another silver three-headed dragon hairpin, but at the same time, Missandei managed to weave in the blue winter rose.

“You look amazing, Your Grace,” Missandei said, admiring her work with pride.

Daenerys gave her a small smile. “Thank you, my friend.”

Her hand went to her stomach, still hidden for now, but Daenerys knew it wouldn’t last for long.

 _‘One more chance,’_ she told herself _. ‘One more chance… before I make my choice.’_

Her Unsullied formed a protective circle around their Queen as Daenerys walked down the halls. Her head was held high. Her hands clasped formally in front of her. She looked every inch a queen.

The Great Hall doors were flung open, startling everyone inside as the Unsullied marched inside, moving apart to reveal their Queen. Daenerys’s violet eyes swept the Great Hall, taking in all the Northern Lords and Ladies that would dare and try stand between her and Jon.

 _‘One more chance,’_ she told herself again. _‘Just one more chance…’_

Jon and Sansa were already in their chairs, although both stood when Daenerys arrived. Sansa looked at the Dragon Queen’s attire with a mixed expression, while Jon was doing everything possible to keep from getting aroused. He loved it whenever Daenerys dressed like the queen Jon knew she was. It was one of the main reasons he loved her. Thankfully, his long overcoat hides the hardening of his groin.

“Your Grace,” Jon and Sansa said together, bowing respectfully.

“Your Grace,” the assembled masses said in unison, Northerner and Essosi together.

Daenerys nodded to them and took her center chair, Jon and Sansa, then taking their seats next to her. Once the highest rank among them had been seated, all others sat down. The Great Hall was crammed to bursting, as once again no one dared miss the trial of the infamous Jaime Lannister.

“Bring him in,” Daenerys commanded.

The Dothraki guards standing by the main door nodded and went to do as she said, returning moments later with a shackled Jaime Lannister. He wasn’t beaten or broken, as most prisoners would have been. Jaime had only been inside his cell for only a couple of days, but Daenerys had given Jaime strict instructions not to be abused.

“You know why you are here, Ser?” Daenerys asked.

Jaime nodded. “I do.”

“Then let us begin,” Daenerys said, taking a deep breath. “You, Ser Jaime of House Lannister, are here on trial. You stand accused of murder. You stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges, Ser?”

Jaime took a deep breath. “I am guilty.”

Daenerys nodded and looked to Sansa.

“Those who wish to speak against, Ser Jaime, you may now do so,” Sansa said.

A Northern Lord raised his hand, and Sansa nodded for him to step forward and speak.

“I was at the Red Wedding,” the Northern Lord began. “I was there when His Grace, King Robb, was murdered by Roose Bolton. I remember hearing Lord Bolten say, _‘Jaime Lannister sends his regards.’_ Then he stabbed, His Grace.”

Sansa turned to Jaime. “What do you say to that, Ser?”

“Roose Bolton was acting upon my Father’s commands,” Jaime argued. “I did not tell that slimy leech to say anything.”

Sansa scowled at him but said nothing. None by one people came forward, telling of Jaime’s crimes. They spoke of when he led the Lannister army against Riverrun. They spoke of when he led the Lannister army against High Garden. They told of when he poisoned Olenna Tyrell. They spoke of his relationship with Cersei and how they plotted to seize the Iron Throne. They spoke of his father, leading the Sack of King’s Landing and killing Elia Martell and her children. Lastly, they spoke of how Jaime had murdered his kin.

After all of Jaime’s crimes were declared, Jon then called for people to speak up in Jaime's defense. The Great Hall fell silent as no one had an answer. Of course, Tyrion spoke, but everyone chalked it up to brotherly loyalty. Once Tyrion finished talking, the Great Hall once again fell silent, as no one else wanted to speak.

Except for one.

Brienne stood to her feet, walked to the Great Hall center, and bowed before the three people on the dais. However, Brienne’s eyes were on Daenerys.

“You don’t know me well, Your Grace,” Brienne began. “But I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honor. I know this to be true. I was his captor once, and when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves upon me, Ser Jaime stopped them. His reward for defending my honor was the loss of his hand, by those wicked men.

“Without him, Lady Sansa, you would not be alive. Your Lady Mother made him promise to save you and your sister,” Brienne continued, now looking to Sansa. “To bring you both to Winterfell, to bring you both back home. He armed me, he armored me, and sent me to find you to bring you home.”

Sansa looked down at her hands, then to Jon and Daenerys, before turning back to Brienne. “You vouch for him?”

“I do,” Brienne said, nodding.

“As do I,” Daenerys said, surprising everyone.

“What?” Sansa gasped.

“I talked to Ser Jaime, while I was in the dungeons,” Daenerys revealed. “He told me the truth of what happened during the Sack of King’s Landing. My father would burn it all to the ground, leaving nothing but rubble and smoldering ash. If it weren’t for Ser Jaime, hundreds of thousands would have been slaughtered.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the Great Hall. The Northerner’s couldn’t believe the Mad King’s Daughter was vouching for the man who had murdered him. Sansa was flabbergasted, although Jon didn’t seem that surprised. Something was changing in Daenerys, although Jon didn’t know what was causing it.

“We need all the men we can to fight the dead,” Jon said to Sansa. “He had brought two-hundred men when his sister, the so-called ‘queen,’ hasn’t sent a single solider. He knew the risk in coming here, knowing our rage but came anyway.”

“I say then it’s time for us to pass judgment,” Daenerys said, sitting forward. “Your Grace, what do you say?”

“I say we let him live,” Jon said.

Daenerys looked to Sansa. “My Lady?”

“I say we let him live as well,” Sansa replied.

“As do I,” Daenerys said, turning to Jaime. “Ser Jamie, it is by our command that we grant you mercy and allow you to live. The men you brought with us will help us fight against the Dead. But, before you lead them into battle, you must swear the Oath of Loyalty to House Targaryen and bend the knee.”

The Northern Lords and Ladies all began to whisper among themselves.

They considered it sacrilege that this Southern Queen would dare order someone to bend in the knee in their Great Hall, but what could they do? Jon did not rebuff her, although Sansa’s lips pressed themselves into a thin, tight line.

Jaime, however, did not have to be told twice. He held out his arms so that the shackles could be removed from his hands, then, he slowly bent the knee before Daenerys.

“As the eldest living son of House Lannister, I pledge my sword, my House's recourses, my men and armies to you; Daenerys Targaryen. I declare you my Queen from this day until my last days.”

Daenerys nodded in satisfaction and looked to Grey Worm, the Unsullied General walked stiffly to Jaime and held out his sword. Jaime slowly took it, looking at the second half of Ice, the ancestral sword of House Stark. After the execution of Eddard Stark, Tywin had Ice melted down into two swords. Now both pieces were back in the North, where Jaime believed they belonged.

“Lady Brienne,” Daenerys called out.

Brienne stood to her feet. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Since you believe so much in this man, I am putting him and his men under your command,” Daenerys ruled. “That won’t be a problem, would it?”

Brienne shook her head. “No, Your Grace. I would consider it an honor.”

Daenerys nodded. “Then, it is settled. The winds are growing colder, and the snow is rising higher. We must prepare for the Battle heading our way.”


	11. XI. Preparing for Battle

An uneasy and tense peace settled upon Winterfell after Jaime’s trial. Just as Daenerys had commanded, he and his men were all under the command of Brienne. Brienne already had been given authority over a small group of men, so adding Jaime and his men doubled her company’s size.

Allies thought dead also arrived, as several Ironborn led by Theon came to Winterfell two days after Jaime’s trial.

Daenerys was happy to see that he was still alive, and was gladdened to know that Yara was free. Theon explained that Yara was taking the Iron Island’s in Daenerys’s name and could provide a way of escape if this battle went south.

However, while Daenerys greeted Theon with genuine kindness, although it was with a regal coolness, Sansa was the complete opposite.

The Lady of Winterfell’s face crumbled as she rushed into his arms, holding him close as she sobbed into his shoulder. They had been through so much under Ramsey. He had saved her. Now he was back. After that, Theon never seemed far from Sansa’s side. He and his Ironborn formed a ‘guard’ around her, as Brienne was busy with her men.

“I wonder is Theon is in love with Sansa,” Jon casually said to Daenerys one night.

The two laid in Daenerys’s bed, slowly bathing in the afterglow of their recent lovemaking. It was becoming rare for them to find time like this together, as both could feel the day of doom creeping closer.

Daenerys’s bare thigh gleamed in the moonlight as she rested her head on Jon’s chest. “What do you mean?”

“I never told you the whole truth of what happened to her,” Jon said, stroking her back, her skin feeling as if it was made of fire. “About what Ramsey did to her…”

Daenerys looked up at him. “You don’t have too. It’s not your place to tell me. Perhaps she will. But what does it matter if he loves her?”

Jon shrugged. “I don’t know… perhaps it’s the protective older brother coming out of me. Or… is it cousin?”

Daenerys sat up, her silver hair falling over her breasts. “You’re their brother Jon. You were raised with them. The same was as Theon is.”

Jon cupped her face, brushing his thumb against his cheek. “When Sam told me the truth, I felt so lost… I did not know how I could be both a Targaryen and a Stark. But then, I remembered my words to Theon. I might be of Rhaegar’s seed, but Ned Stark raised me. I am his son.”

Daenerys smiled softly and leaned close, pressing her lips to his as Jon spread her legs, both moaning in bliss when their bodies joined once again as one.

However, as the snow began to fall heavier and heavier over the next couple of passing days, the final preparations began to be put into place. Just as Daenerys had suggested, all the women, children, elderly, and sick would be housed in the Great Hall. Unsullied and Northern soldiers would be placed in front of the sealed doors, to prevent the Dead from getting inside.

With the help of a Maester, it was agreed that all children younger than the age of 10 were to be given a light draft of Milk of the Poppy to put them into a light slumber. Sansa was the one who had suggested this, as she did not believe it right for children to go through the battle terrified out of their minds. Everyone in the War council agreed, and the offer to have a Milk of the Poppy draft was also extended to anyone in the Great Hall who would want it.

The seven fire rings around Winterfell were also close to being finished. They were designed in a way that would make them both easy to light and easy to extinguish with the snow. The Dothraki would be split and placed at the two of two hills, for which they were waiting and watch for the signal to charge. The Dothraki were the mobile cavalry, and it was their style of battle to swarm and overwhelm. They were to thin out the wight herd, attacking the sides and driving them into several plotted bottlenecks.

On the top of the towers were large vats of boiled oil, that was to be poured down upon anything which tried to scale the walls. There were also dragonglass covered spikes and logs that would be dropped down or rolled upon those below. The catapults were finished and were placed between the rings. The spaces between the wings were about the same, with ten men standing side-by-side, as the primary goal was to prevent Winterfell from beginning overrun.

Lastly, the escape tunnels within Winterfell were cleaned out and prepared for an emergency evacuation. They wouldn’t have a lot of time for an escape and had to make one as quickly as possible if the threat came upon them.

“All of this will amount for nothing if we do not kill the Night King,” Tyrion pointed out one day in their war meetings. “Not only does he had a dragon…. He can keep raising our dead, increasing his numbers until we are snuffed out.”

“We just have to figure out a way to bring him out into the open,” Arya said.

“Use me,” Bran said, starling everyone.

Daenerys blinked. “Y… You mean to be used as bait?”

“No,” Jon said firmly. “Bran, that’s an impossible suggestion.”

“He’s coming for me, Jon,” Bran said. “He wants me.”

“Even if we did this,” Jon said. “Where can we put you that can be protected in case he comes for you?”

“In the godswood, where I belong,” Bran replied. “I have been watching him, Jon. He will be here on the full moon that is in two days. We do not have time to argue.”

Jon braced himself on the table, his hands slowly balling into fists. This was a terrible idea. He wasn’t going to use his little brother as bait. A warm, gentle hand upon his shoulder made the tension leave Jon’s body, the King of the North, raising his eyes to look into Daenerys’s violet ones.

“It’s going be alright,” she whispered, before turning back to the assembled crowd. “We need someone to watch him. We need our best soldiers. My Unsullied will…”

“No,” Theon interrupted, causing everyone to look in his direction. “Let me do it.”

“What?” Sansa gasped.

Theon looked into her blue eyes. “Winterfell is my home, just as much as it’s yours. Allow me to regain my honor and defend it and one of Ned Stark’s sons.”

“Theon…” Sansa whispered, placing her hand on his. “Please… don’t do this.”

“It’s an honor to defend you and your family,” Theon said, grasping Sansa’s long fingers. “I promise you that I won’t let you down.”

Jon didn’t like how Theon was gazing at his sister, and cleared his throat, getting a slightly selfish pleasure when the two broke away, startled. “It’s settled then,” Jon sighed. “Theon and the Ironborn will protect Bran in the godswood, and draw the Night King there.”

“We’ll help too,” a young girl named Alys Karstark said, nodding to Theon. “We’ll give him back up if he needs it.”

Jon pushed up from the table, his grey eyes sweeping over the map. “Then it’s time we prepare. You heard Bran. We have two days before the Nigh King comes to us, let’s make sure we’re ready.”

As the Lords and Ladies filed out of the war room, a Northern Lord slipped a note into Sansa’s hands. It wasn’t until Sansa returned to her chambers to open it and the words chilled her:

**_We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark. We will never follow a Targaryen Queen. The North Remembers…_ **

Sansa immediately took the letter to Jon, her brother reading it over before crumbling it into his fist.

“Who wrote this?” Jon growled.

“I don’t know,” Sansa said.

Jon’s grey eyes were as hard as steel. “Don’t know, or won’t say? Tell me, Sansa, are you encouraging this…this…treason?”

Jon’s words were like a slap to Sansa’s face. Her cheeks grew pink in fury as she glared at him.

“How dare you ask me this?!” Sansa demanded through clenched teeth. “Me! Who’s been the most loyal! While you were out cavorting with that… that… ‘Queen,’ I had to oversee preparations for your war!”

“It’s not _my_ war, Sansa!” Jon shouted back. “This is the war against the dead! If we don’t win, then we’ll _all_ be slaughtered! But you didn’t answer my question, have you been encouraging this? I know you hate Daenerys.”

“I don’t hate her!” Sansa yelled. “I don’t trust her! And unlike you, I am forced to look at the bigger picture of what’ll happen after this ‘war’! The North is never going to follow her. They would sooner see her dead, then fight her battles.”

Blood roared in Jon’s ears at Sansa’s words. The uncrowned King in the North never wanted to punch a wall or smash a table more in his life.

“I’ll command them,” Jon said. “I’ll command them to respect her. We’re going to get married Sansa, when this is all over. She’ll win her war against Cersei, and Westeros will be united again.”

Sansa shook her head. “Jon… Jon, you’re not listening to me. Whispers of your possible marriage to Daenerys has reached everyone’s ears, I’m sure. If you marry her, then it’ll start another war, and this time you’ll be fighting your people.”

* * *

News quickly spread throughout the castle of Bran’s words. The Night King would arrive at Winterfell in less than two days, and they had to be ready.

The campgrounds of the Freefolk and Dothraki were stripped and stored away. In their place were dragonglass barriers and fortifications. The Great Hall was cleared away, and instead, beds were placed there for the people who would stay hidden during the battle. The two days forced all to live within the castle, although the men patrolling the towers were increased.

Daenerys hardly saw Jon during this time, and he with her, as both were with their separate armies. Jaime spent his time with Brienne, Sansa spent her time with Theon, and Bran spent his time in the Godswood. The Three-eyed Raven couldn’t help but feel as if this battle was just the precursor for something, but he did not know precisely what.

As the sun began to set on the second day, it finally hit everyone that today could very well be their last day upon this earth. The mood upon most was somber, yet everyone had different essential steps forward in various parts of the castle.

Missandei and Grey Worm were walking down one of the halls, talking to each other when a small Northern Women group was heading towards them. The Northern Women looked at Grey Worm with fright, and Missandei with pure disgust, before hurrying away, one bumping her shoulder hard into Missandei.

“Are you alright?” Grey Worm asked his lover, checking her over for any sign of injury.

Missandei nodded. “I’m fine. They… They hate all of us.”

“I know,” Grey Worm sighed, wrapping his arm protectively around her, the two of them continuing their walk. “Do you remember what I asked you a while ago? When Our Queen sits upon her throne, do you still desire to stay with her?”

Missandei bit her bottom lip. She had been reconsidering her answer to Grey Worm’s question before. She remembered when she had said she could never leave Daenerys, now Missandei wasn’t so sure.

“I… I don’t know…” Missandei confessed. “I would love to see the beaches of Naath again. To see if my family is still there…”

Grey Worm took her hand in his, staring intensely into her hazel eyes. “When Our Queen takes the throne of her father, I shall ask for her permission to take you home.”

Missandei smiled and kissed his cheek, resting her head upon his shoulder as the two continued their walk.

Inside one of the chambers, Brienne, Jaime, Podrik, Tormund, Tyrion, and Davos sat around a crackling fire, talking among themselves. It didn’t take long for the group to get quite drunk, and Tormund dramatically turned to face Brienne.

“My golden beauty,” Tormund said, his words slurred. “I regret to inform you that I have found another.”

Brienne’s eyebrows shot up, as did Jaime and Tyrion’s. “I… I’m sorry, what?”

Tormund held up his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m sure ya’ll find someone. But my heart has been seized by another. I’ll never forget ya, but it was never meant to be.”

Tyrion and Podrik struggled to hold back their laughter, and Brienne shot them a dark look before turning back to Tormund.

“Thank you… I’ll try not to be too heartbroken…” Brienne said, struggling to keep the relief from her face.

Tormund smiled and took a long drink from his horn. The conversation then turned to knights, and when Tormund asked why Brienne wasn’t one, the young woman replied it was because of tradition.

“Fuck tradition,” Tormund said, taking another drink from his horn. “You’ve done more than most so-called knights. You deserve it.”

“Yes…” Jaime said, an idea dawning on him. “You do.”

Jaime revealed that a knight could knight other people, as long as they were deemed worthy. Brienne was more than worthy, and although it took some convincing, Brienne of Tarth finally achieved her greatest wish. She knelt before Jaime, a simple woman, and rose back up a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.

Inside another room, Sansa and Theon shared a bowl of soup, the two smiling more than either ad done in days prior. Inside the forge, Arya found Gendry, the two’s solemn flirting and steamy glances finally coming to a climax as Arya pressed her lips onto his.

Lastly, in the Winterfell crypts, Daenerys found Jon standing in front of a woman's statue, a direwolf at her side. Hearing footsteps, Jon’s tense face relaxed at the sight of his lover and a Ghost at her side, for which Jon now understood why his direwolf was so loyal to her. Giving Daenerys a small smile, Jon held out his hands for her, and Daenerys took them. Jon wrapped his arms around Daenerys, holding her close to share their warmth as they looked at the statue together.

“Who is she?” Daenerys asked.

“My mother,” Jon answered. “This is Lyanna Stark.”

Daenerys took in the chiseled face, roughly carved so that no doubt didn’t do her justice. “She looks a bit like you.”

Jon chuckled. “Thank the gods, it’s true. If I came out looking like Rhaegar…”

A heavy silence fell over them at his words, at what would have possibly happened if that was true. Robert would have murdered him, and Daenerys would indeed be alone.

“I’m glad that I know,” Daenerys said. “All my life, I thought my brother was my only family member living. Living with him… was the most terrible thing you could imagine, Jon.”

“He was that bad?” Jon asked.

Daenerys sighed. “When I voiced my objections on being married to my first husband, his words were, ‘We go home with an army. With Khal Drogo's army. I would let his whole tribe fuck you, all forty thousand men and their horses too, if that's what it took.’”

Hot rage poured through Jon’s veins as he listened to her. “He was a monster.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if that’s my future,” Daenerys confessed. “To be like him,… like my Father.”

Jon clutched her closer to his chest. “Don’t say that, Dany. You’re nothing like them.”

“Aren’t I?” Daenerys asked, looking into his grey eyes. “I am constantly walking on a tight line, Jon. People here judge me based on rumors, lies, and the history of my father. What if it’s my destiny to go mad?”

“Then I’ll stop you,” Jon said, taking her face in his hands. “We are in this together, Dany. We are the last remaining members of our House, whatever your dreams, whatever your belief, let them be mine too. I’ll check your wildest impulses. You’ll prevent me from spending hours brooding.”

“Which will be the real struggling in this relationship,” Daenerys teased.

Jon chuckled. “Yes, us Northerners are born to brood.” He slid his hand to the small of her back. “But I love you, Daenerys Targaryen. No matter what tomorrow will bring, I want you to know is that I’ll always be by your side.”

Daenerys’s eyes were swimming with tears of joy, the Dragon Queen’s lips curving. “Jon… I love you so much… But you are quite oblivious to the obvious.”

Jon blinked. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Daenerys chuckled. “We’ve been talking all this time, and never once did you notice I was wearing your ring.”

Jon’s heart stopped; his eyes traveled down to her right hand and saw that she was wearing his ring. “Dany…” he breathed.

“My answer is yes,” Daenerys said, smiling.

Jon let out a whoop of joy loud enough to wake the dead before sweeping her in his arms. Spinning Daenerys around, he pressed his lips to hers in the deepest kiss he could give.

“Easy there, Your Grace,” Daenerys giggled. “Keep kissing me like that, and our clothes will be on the floor.”

Jon chuckled, forcing himself to pull away as he gazed deeply into her eyes. “Afterwards then. We are going to survive this, Dany, I know we are. All three of us.”

Jon’s eyes traveled down to her stomach, and Daenerys’s heart stopped. How long had he known, she wondered. Her mouth opened to speak only to be silenced by the bellow of the horn.


	12. XII. The Battle for the Dawn

The movement had been spotted by one of the watchers on the wall, coming from Winter Road. It looked to be a small caravan, although the archers nocked their arrows anyway.

It was seven horses, and on top of them were seven people clothed in thick red furs. The leader of them pushed back her hood to reveal herself to be Melisandre. The gates of Winterfell opened as Jon and Daenerys exited the castle to greet the Red Priestess.

“Lady Melisandre,” Daenerys said.

“Your Graces,” Melisandre said, bowing her head to both of them. “I see that we arrived just in time.”

“We?” Jon repeated, arching an eyebrow.

Melisandre gestured to the men and women behind her, each one pulling back their hoods to reveal themselves as Red Priests and Priestesses. “We have come to help you in the Battle for the Dawn. If you will let us, of course.”

Jon’s jaw was set, but Daenerys nodded in approval. “Thank you for coming to our aid. We need all the help we can get.”

Melisandre nodded and turned to her followers; each one was bowing their heads in respect. In the darkness, a loud shriek made everyone freeze, followed by howls and screams of the dead finally nearing Winterfell.

After a brief conversation, the final preparations were put into place. With Sansa's help, the Maesters within the Great Hall administered the Milk of the Poppy draft to the children and ill, the Unsullied taking their positions in front of the doors. The various armies took to circling Winterfell, the different waves taking their positions in the multiple rings, but then they hit a major problem. It was snowing heavily, and it would be hard for the archers to see the rings to light them.

Lady Melisandre was a way to help. Her Priests and Priestess took their positions on the different rings and began to pray to the Lord of Light. One by one, the rings started to flicker, flames dancing as the seven rings all sparked with fire.

“They will burn as long as we stay alive,” Melisandre told Daenerys and Jon.

“As long as you stay alive?” Daenerys repeated. “But if you die then…?”

“We are glad to lay down our lives for you,” Melisandre said. “The night is dark and full of terrors. But fire burns them all away. You two are that fire, the union of Fire and Ice.”

Daenerys looked at Jon then back to Melisandre, nodding. “We can do this, Jon, all of us.”

Jon nodded, his hands going to his sword. He looked at the sword at Daenerys’s side, remembering that Arya had given it to her. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her going into battle while carrying his child, but neither of them had time to talk about it.

Everyone took their final positions around Winterfell and the Dothraki upon the two large hills. Jon and Daenerys stood next to their dragons, both finding comfort near the massive beasts.

The screams in the distance grew louder. The ground began to shake. In the darkness above, Daenerys could hear the flapping of wings… it was her child, she knew it to be. At that very moment, the clouds parted from in front of the moon, and the full mass of the undead army could be seen. They seemed endless, rows upon rows of them, all waiting for the Night King's command.

Bronn, who was in charge of the catapults in the front of the lines, raised his hand. The large balls of the pitch were set aflame. Then when Bronn lowered his hand, they were launched forward.

And so, the Battle for the Dawn began.

When children were told of the battle centuries later, the storytellers would dramatically say that it lasted for days and weeks. However, in actuality, it only lasted for a single night.

The children would be told of the King of the North who rode a dragon.

The children would be told how armies led by former enemies came together to fight against the living dead.

The children would be told of the wolf pack that arrived from the wolfswood, appearing out of the blue and at the command of two direwolves: one white as a ghost and one brown.

Lastly, the children would be told of the Silver Queen. The Silver Queen who fought for the North as if it was her own. Who fought with a sword in her hand and riding a dragon, slaying all the dead who dared lay in her path.

But even with these odds, these primary factors on their side, the balance of power began to tip on the side of the dead. An undead giant broke down the main gates, charging in and killing all it could find. The courage Lyanna Mormont found herself in its hands, but just like her sigil, the Little Bear was not one to be underestimated. Seizing a dragonglass dagger, as Lyanna felt her ribs cracking, she used the last of her strength to plunge the blade into the giant’s eye.

More casualties fell for the living that day.

Edd of the Night’s Watch was killed. As was Ser Beric, fighting to protect Arya and Lady Melisandre inside the castle walls, not that Arya needed much protection. After all, it was believed she put down more wights than anyone. Podrik, the squire to Brienne, also fell, leaping in front of Brienne to prevent a wight plunging a dagger into her chest. Screaming in a fury, Brienne pressed on, fighting in memory of her fallen, loyal squire.

Countless other Unsullied, Dothraki, Northerners, Knights of the Vale, and others died that day, but it would not be for naught.

Inside the skies above Winterfell, Daenerys and Jon fought the Night King upon their dragons. Daenerys’s heart felt as if it was getting ripped from her chest as her Children fought, but she knew it had to be done. Eventually, the Night King was knocked from Viserion’s back, and Daenerys commanded Drogon to unleash all of his flames.

Only for the Night King to not burn. Instead, his lips curved into a small smile, and he bent down to pick up another ice spear.

“FLY!” Jon yelled at Daenerys. “FLY!”

Rhaegal and Drogon quickly turned away. Just bearly missing getting turned into undead dragons themselves. However, it caused the two dragons to collide. Daenerys was knocked from Drogon’s back, although thankfully, the ground wasn’t that far down. The landing in a pile of fresh snow was soft, but Daenerys had landed right in Viserion.

Her Child stared at her with unseeing blue eyes. Half his jaw was gone, his throat was ripped open, his entrails trailing on the ground. And yet, it was still her Child. Daenerys remembered that Viserion was the calmest one out of his brothers, and would much rather spend hours curled around her shoulders than hunting with the others.

“Viserion…” Daenerys whispered. “My baby…”

Viserion blinked, then opened his mouth and unleashed a collum of flame that encased Daenerys.

“NO!!!!” Jon screamed, watching as his lover was coated in the blue flames.

Jon closed in eyes in horror, tears sliding down his cheeks as Jon believed himself to have lost both his future wife and child.

But it was wrong.

When the flames died away, Daenerys still stood there, alive but smoking. Her clothes were smoldering, but she was alive.

“Go save, Bran!” Daenerys shouted to Jon, picking up a sword and holding it in front of her. “I know what I must do.”

Jon did not want to leave her, as he feared what would happen if he did go, but her words spoke true. The Night King was heading to Bran, and he had to do save his little brother.

Daenerys turned her attention back to Viserion, a tear sliding down her cheek as she gripped her sword in her hand. Never in her life did she believe that she would have to put down her child, but Daenerys knew she had no choice. She was the only person who could withstand Viserion’s flames. It had to be her who fought him.

She danced around Viserion, using her small stature and speed to her advantage. Daenerys knew that she couldn’t let him pin her down, as all it would take was a snap from his mighty jaws, and she’d be finished. Drogon, who was nearby, launched himself at his undead brother, giving Daenerys her opening. Hot tears poured down Daenerys’s cheeks as she delivered the final blow after their long battle. Viserion let out a shriek loud enough to wake dragons from stone as he fell back, crumbling into nothing more than a pile of bones.

Daenerys tossed the sword away and dropped to her knees. Her wails of anguish echoed in the darkness as she held her child's head in her lap. It was here where Ser Jorah found her, covered in blood and badly bruised, but still alive.

However, the Night King was still making his way towards the Godwood. His White Walker Generals with him cut down any that stood in their path to get to Bran. Theon saw this and grabbed a spear, charging at the Night King with a bellow. He had promised Sansa he would protect her brother. He could not go back on this promise.

The Night King quickly broke the spear in two and grabbed Theon by the throat. Lifting him in the air, he tossed him aside as if he was a mere child’s toy. Theon both heard and felt several bones in his arms and legs break, but he wasn’t dead, not yet.

Slowly, the Night King approached Bran, the two surveying each other for the second true time. No word passed between them; nothing could or needed to be said. The Night King reached for his sword, ready to do what he believed needed to be done…

Suddenly chaos behind him erupted.

A Pack of wolves led by Ghost and Nymeria burst into the Godswood, launching themselves at the White Walkers and other wights. While their wolf brothers attacked the White Walkers, the pack-siblings used this distraction to go after the Night King's primary target. The Night King turned in a fury, his eyes glaring hard as he lifted his Icesword, ready to cut both direwolves in half, only to stop.

Something sharp was buried in his chest.

Looking down, the Night King saw that a dagger was embedded deep into his chest, and attached to that dagger was gloved hand.

“Winter has come for you,” Arya hissed into the Night King’s ear, her Valyrian steel dagger the object in his chest.

The Night King’s head tossed back as he exploded into millions of shards of ice. One by one, his Generals exploited as well, the wights falling over and crumbling into nothing more than piles of bones.

It was over.

The living had won the Battle for the Dawn.

However, while people began to cheer and emerge from their hiding places, Bran’s soul was bothered. Before the Night King had been destroyed, words were said in Bran’s mind, words that sent a chill up his spine.

“I am… just the beginning…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Just a quick note: Only a couple more chapters until the real changes to the story begins! We're almost there, and I hope you guys love it when it comes! The more comments I get, the quicker I update!


	13. XIII. History Has It’s Eye On You

The soft wind gently blew Daenerys’s silver curls over her cheeks, causing the Dragon Queen to lift her head. Daenerys tried not to sigh in pleasure at the warm sun's feel upon her face, but she couldn’t help it.

Finally, the sun was out.

Finally, there was a warmth to be felt.

For the first time since Daenerys arrived in the North, she didn’t feel cold. The Night King was dead. The snow should begin to melt. Roads would become unblocked. Everything would slowly go back to normal. At least… that was what Daenerys hoped. For the last two days, everyone had worked to gather the bodies of the fallen.

Large funeral pyres were hastily built, as they were to be given the highest possible honor, at least that was what Daenerys believed. They were to be cremated via Dragonfire, as the Targaryen Kings and Queens of old were and their families. The North burned their dead. It only seemed right to Daenerys to give the people battling for the living this honor.

Bodies of Unsullied, Dothraki, Northmen, Knights of the Vale, and the Red Priests were laid together. People put mementos upon the bodies of fallen family members, and commanders marked their favorite soldiers.

Several Unsullied and Dothraki fell, with the highest rank being Qhono, Daenerys’s Dothraki forces leader. His sister Asheffi was weeping as she pressed her lips to his cold cheek, making sure the bells in his hair were placed correctly.

With her brother gone, Asheffi knew that there would be infighting once again. Men would fight to become the next leader under their Great Khaleesi. It was a tremendous honor.

Asheffi frowned. _‘No. I shall not let our tribes be torn apart again by war. I shall continue my brother’s legacy, and become Blood of Her Blood.’_

Tyrion and Jaime also placed a Lannister pin on Bronn’s collar. The semi-faithful sellsword had fallen in the battle, yet stayed loyal to the Lannister brothers' end.

When all the mementos were placed, Jon walked to the front of the pyres and delivered a rousing speech for all to hear. He spoke of the fallen's courage, he said of how they’ll live in legends for thousands of years to come. But most importantly, Jon spoke of how everyone fought as one.

“… On that battlefield,” Jon was saying. “It didn’t matter what you looked like, who you served. What mattered was that you were fighting for the living, and they did that. They laid down their lives for us to all life, and we can never repay that debt.”

Jon looked to Daenerys and gave her a small nod. The Dragon Queen stepped forward and looked to her Children, giving the command for dragon fire.

Everyone watched as columns of flame shot out from the mouths of Rhaegal and Drogon, lighting the pyres and consuming the dead bodies.

Later that evening, a celebration unlike any other took place within the Great Hall. Everyone knew that they should save the food, but after facing the living dead, a little indulgence could be had for this single night. Families that had survived feasted together, wine overflowed in goblets, people laughed, and joked. The dawn had come; the darkness was forever banished.

At least that was what was believed.

Bran watched all of the feasting and celebrations with his regular blank expression, but his mind worked.

He had heard the Night King speak. The Ice Demon had declared that he was the only the beginning. But the beginning of what Bran did not know. His eyes traveled to the main table, where Daenerys was toasting Arya, much to everyone’s excitement and pleasure. His dark-blue eyes then moved down to her stomach, to the secret so entirely hidden behind her furs.

As the night began to wane, lovers began to slip away, desiring to celebrate in another way.

Jaime followed Brienne to her chambers, where the two finally gave in to years of sexual tension. He wasn’t that surprised to know that she was a virgin, but he didn’t care. Jaime was finally with the woman he loved and who he knew could love him back.

Arya went to Gendry, needing to talk. The Stag’s Bastard declared his love for his Wolf Princess and asked her to marry him. Arya smiled and told Gendry that she loved him back, but the marriage was not in the stars for her. However, that did not stop the couple from partaking into another session of the flesh's sensual, vertical dance.

As for Jon and Daenerys, the two's emotions proved to be as hot-blooded and passionate as the dragonblood within their veins. Both had managed to slip away to Jon’s chambers this time, for which Jon quickly locked the door and pulled his lover into his arms. The two fumbled around his bed-chamber, ripping off clothing, touching and kissing. When they were naked, Jon lifted Daenerys into his arms and carried her to his bed, laying her among the furs.

They made love three times, each one different than the last.

The first time was hot, quick, lustful, and passionate, needing to burn away their internal hunger. Daenerys rode Jon as hard as she would ride one of her horses, only to be gripped and flipped over to be ridden herself.

The second time was more sensual, slower, a cooldown, a more of an afterglow.

The third and last time was also slow and sensual, but it was filled with fiery kisses and thigh quivering touches. Their fingers moved over each other with a desire to map out the other’s body, to imprint it into their minds.

As they laid in front of the crackling fire catching their breath, Jon finally spoke about the issue sitting on his mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jon asked. “About the child?”

Daenerys lowered her eyes, biting her lip. “I was afraid.”

“Why?” Jon asked. “Did you think I’d abandon you?”

“What? No, of course not,” Daenerys said quickly. “I know you’re too honorable for that. I was afraid… that I might lose it. After what happened with Rhaego, I’ve done nothing but long for a child of my own. I did not know if I could carry this child to term. Not only that, but we are fighting a war, Jon. I could not have you worrying about me when you should be focusing on the enemy.”

Jon nodded. He understood her reasoning for her fears, but it still hurt that she didn’t trust him to keep this secret. “So, what are you going to do?” his hand roamed over her round belly. “You’ll be showing soon…”

“Now that the war is over, I can think to the future,” Daenerys replied.

“It’s not over, not yet,” Jon said, looking down at her. “Or did you forget about Cersei?”

A heavy silence hung over them before Daenerys spoke again. “I haven’t forgotten about her. But… a part of me is wondering if I should go about this another way.”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked.

“I’m considering… waiting,” Daenerys said, speaking hypothetically, of course. “Maybe… I should wait until we are married, and our child is born?”

Jon cupped her chin, staring intensely into those violet eyes. “No matter what you decide, you know that I’ll be right by your side. You’re my family, Daenerys, just as Bran, Sansa, and Arya are.”

At the mention of Jon’s siblings, a thought suddenly came to Daenerys. “You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?”

Jon sighed, falling back among the furs. “I need too… I really should.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Daenerys asked.

“I have to tell them, Dany,” Jon replied. “We can’t build the future of our House on lies. They deserve to know the truth that their aunt wasn’t kidnapped and raped. But instead was loved and valued.” He intertwined their fingers. “You trust me, do you not?”

“Of course I do,” Daenerys said.

Jon smiled and kissed her forehead. “Then I shall tell them, but only when I believe the time is right.”

His hands then traveled back to her stomach, where the union of their love was growing.

In the back of Jon’s mind, however, another matter had risen. An issue that he hoped would make everyone happy.

* * *

Slowly, repairs upon Winterfell began. Several towers had to rebuild, as did walls and other sections of the castle. The ashes of the dead that were burned were to be gathered and disposed of.

But as the repairs began, the tension between the Northerners and Daenerys’s people returned, and it returned with a vengeance. Daenerys had spoken with Tyrion and Varys and agreed it was best that her armies rest before continuing their march against Cersei. However, there wasn’t a day that gone by in which a fight had to be broken up, or accusations were thrown around.

Jon tried to defuse the situations as best he could, but since he wasn’t crowned, his position was shaky at best. He did not feel comfortable commending people for doing things they did not want, yet that was what rulers did. Sansa, on the other hand, pushed for Jon to finally step up.

“You have to be crowned,” Sansa told Jon one day. “And don’t you try to slither your way out of it. The North needs a king, Jon. So, get brave, and take the bloody crown already!”

Jon turned away, saying nothing at first. This was the matter that was buzzing around in his head. Him being crowned as the ‘King in the North.’ If he were crowned, then he would secure the North for Daenerys and her armies, Westeros would be safe, as they gathered their forces and marched on Cersei.

‘And yet, it’s wrong,’ Jon thought. ‘It’s wrong for me to take the crown from Daenerys. I can not take it. But Dany doesn’t want the crown here either. She doesn’t want to stay here…’

Jon’s eyes snapped back onto his sister. “Set a date for the coordination on the next full moon.”

Sansa’s body relaxed, the young Lady sighing in relief. “So, you’ll do it? You’ll be crowned?”

“I will do what’s best for the North,” Jon said, making sure to be ambiguous with his wording. “And what is best for its people. I’d ask you to organize it, Sansa. Do it to your ideal standards.”

Sansa nodded and hurried off, doing as instructed. Word quickly spread. Jon was prepared for an outburst from Daenerys, but she was relatively calm about it. However, the downside to this was that it kept Jon away from Daenerys, much to the enjoyment of the Northerners and the sorrow of the Dragon Queen.

One day, Daenerys was walking to a Tyrion meeting when a servant in unmarked livery stopped her. A small packet of letters was placed into her palms. Daenerys looked at the servant, confused by the lack of livery colors, but before she could question them, the servant seemingly vanished into thin air. Daenerys looked at the letters, her eyes widening at the seals before hurrying to Tyrion’s chambers.

Her Hand was doing what he usually was doing, drinking, and reading. Tyrion almost dropped his goblet of wine when Daenerys burst in and looked to her in confusion.

“Your Grace? What is wrong?” Tyrion asked.

Daenerys put the letters onto the table. “These just came to me today. The sigils bare the sun and spear of House Martell and the chained harpy from Meereen and the other ‘Great Cities.’”

Frowning, Tyrion took the letters and cut open the House Martell one first, his eyes scanning over the words.

“I thought House Martell was extinct?” Daenerys asked, pacing the floor.

“I thought so as well. But according to this letter, there is still an heiress. She claimed to be called ‘Nymra’ and swears House Martell and Dorne to you and your cause. She begs your forgiveness for not sending troops to save us, as she only recently arrived. Your Grace, this letter is dated almost a month ago.”

“Then how did it just now get here?” Daenerys asked.

Tyrion shrugged. “The melting snow must have freed up the roads. To know that House Martell still survives good, Dorne was one of our most important allies. Do I have your permission to look at the other letter?”

Daenerys nodded, and Tyrion cut open the second letter, this time, his jaw dropped.

“Oh no…” he whispered.

“Tell me what it says,” Daenerys commanded.

Tyrion swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing the wrath that was about to come his way. “It… It is sent by the hand of Daario Naharis, at least it claims to be. He writes that Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor struggle to keep from falling to the former Slave Masters. They are executing all of your Unsullied and the men you left to oversee the cities. He says that they are hunting for him, and he would come to Westeros himself if he weren’t so well known.”

Daenerys froze, her lip trembling as this wave of information washed over her. She had fought to end slavery in the Great Cities. Slavery was a blight upon this earth that needed to be wiped out in its entirety. Now, it was back in her City. He beautiful, beautiful, Meereen.

“What is the date, upon that letter?” Daenerys asked.

Tyrion checked. “Two days before the one from Dorne.”

“For all we know, Daario is dead, and the ‘Good Masters’ have all three cities,” Daenerys whispered, her body trembled. “I have to return.”

Tyrion put down the papers. “Your Grace, I must object. We have a war against Cersei and…”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT CERSEI!” Daenerys exclaimed, her emotions finally exploding.

Tyrion flinched. “What… What do you mean?”

Daenerys struggled against the tears she felt threatening to fall. “I… I carry Jon’s child,” she confessed. “All I want is for this child to be raised in a loving home, to be safe, to have what I never could, growing up. But that’s not here, that’s not Westeros. I could make it into what I wanted, but I can’t, Tyrion. Westeros is not my home, and it never will be. I don’t care about Cersei. I don’t even care about that fucking Iron Throne anymore! All I want is a home, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. They don’t love me here. They only fear and hate me. That’s no way to rule. What will they do to my child when I’m not here to protect it?” Daenerys took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I want to return home: to Essos.”

“B…B… B… But…” Tyrion stammered. “All your plans, all your armies. You said you wanted to break the wheel.”

“I still plan to do so,” Daenerys said firmly, her voice hard in how Tyrion knew better than to argue with her. “But not here. Westeros was never my home, and I don’t want to force it to be. We will return to Essos.”

Tyrion wanted to shake her, to try and talk some sensei, not her, but part of him knew she was right. Westeros would never accept her, not the woman he knew her to be. Westeros would only see the daughter of the Mad King, not ‘Mhysa,’ as those in Meereen saw her. Not the ‘Great Khaleesi,’ as the Dothraki saw her. Essos was where Daenerys had a legacy. Westeros would never let her build a foundation for herself.

“Have you told Jon about the child?” Tyrion asked.

“Yes. And he still wants to marry but… I doubt his people would let us be happy. I love him too much to let us be torn apart. It’s best that I make a clean break myself, get it over with.”

“You’re going to break his heart,” Tyrion pointed out.

“Kings and Queens rarely marry for love anyway,” Daenerys replied. “I have his child, so that’ll make me happy. I belong in Essos, where my House was founded, not here where it was destroyed.”

Tyrion sighed and nodded. “I’ll talk to Varys. Although, I do suggest you to not make a scene until after Jon’s coordination. It would ruin it all for him.”

“I know,” Daenerys whispered. “I know…”

Later that day, she found Theon, heading in the direction of Sansa’s chambers, and pulled him aside.

“How can I serve you, Your Grace?” Theon asked, bowing deeply.

“Can you send a raven to your sister and ask her to gather her fleet?” Daenerys asked.

Theon arched an eyebrow. “Of course, I can. It might take a couple of days to hear back from her, of course. Why do you want them? I must ask?”

Daenerys took a deep breath. “My armies and I are leaving Westeros. Because of your Uncle's threat, I can not travel to White Harbor and leave through the Narrow Sea. We must take a long way, heading past Dorne. The nearest port city, I believe, is…Seaguard, am I correct?”

“W-Well, yes, My Lady,” Theon stammered. “But that… What’s going on? Has Jon done something?”

Daenerys shook her head. “No, he hasn’t done anything. But I need to return home, and my home is not here. Please, Theon, will you help me?”

Theon felt himself once again be torn. He was finally back home in Winterfell, where he believed he belonged. Yet, Daenerys was his Queen. He had sworn an oath alongside Yara to do whatever Daenerys wished. Theon’s eyes traveled to Sansa’s door, then back to Daenerys, the Ironborn Prince pressed his lips tightly together, but he knew the choice that had to be done.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Theon said, bowing deeply.

Daenerys breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Theon. I will not forget this kindness. I also do not have to mention that this is not to be shared…?”

Theon nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. I understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Well, we at the start of the chapters starting to deviate from their original form. If you recall, Jon was proud and happy to becoming crowned King in the North. But I want you all to watch his words with Sansa and Daenerys. What did he say? What didn't he say? The crowning is the next chapter, and it's going to be quite interesting!
> 
> Oh! For those wondering, I'm going to be posting on my other FanFictions soon. I've gotten inspiration lately and plan to get back to work on them!


	14. XIV. The Queen of the North

Jon frowned as he looked at the man before him.

The man staring back at Jon was dressed in the richest of winter furs, boiled leather, and thickest woolen breeches. His hair was washed and pulled back into the half-updo that was the Northern fashion. His mustache and beard were trimmed. He looked like a king.

 _‘But why don’t I feel like one?’_ Jon wondered to himself. _‘Why do I feel so… so out of place?’_

Jon jumped when someone knocked on his door, yet when he opened it he saw that it was only Daenerys. The Dragon Queen She was dressed in her best furs, her silver curls pulled back into a simple braided bun with winter roses weaved into it, no doubt by the skillful hands of Missandei.

Daenerys walked to him and Jon took her hands in his, pulling her close and pressing his lips to her’s deeply. Under Daenerys’s thick furs Jon could fill it, the swell of their child. It could be easily seen when Daenerys was naked, but Jon calculated his lover had a couple more weeks before she couldn’t hide it under her clothes anymore.

Slowly, Jon broke the kiss but instead of seeing Daenerys’s eyes shining with excitement and joy all Jon saw was sadness.

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked. “Did someone say something to you again?”

Daenerys shook her head, but Jon wondered if she was telling the truth.

Tonight was the day of his coronation under the weirwood tree, and all the Northern Lords and Ladies were to be there to bear witness. Much to the disdain of the northern Lords and Ladies, Daenerys and several high-ranking members of her court were also invited. They proclaimed that it ‘wasn’t right’ that southerner was to sit in on this sacred event, let alone the daughter of the Mad King.

Jon hoped and prayed to all the gods that such words would never reach Daenerys’s ears, but a part of him knew it already had.

“I just…want to take a good look at you,” Daenerys said, putting on a smile that was forced. “A very good look at you.”

“You’re making it sound as if you’re leaving me forever,” Jon joked, only to freeze, frowning. “You…You aren’t…right?”

Daenerys neither confirmed nor denied his question. Instead she pulled Jon close for another deep kiss before stepping away. “I must go, see you at the weirwood tree.”

Jon’s fingers tried to grasp her one last time before Daenerys pulled away, leaving his chambers. Jon looked down at his hands, then turned to look at himself in the mirror.

 _'Love is the death of duty…'_ Maester Aemon’s words rang loud and true in Jon’s ears. _'Love is the death of duty…'_

 _‘Yes, it is,’_ Jon thought bitterly. _‘I love her. She is carrying our child, that is all that matters.’_

Leaving his chambers, Jon traveled to the section of the castle that had the weirwood. The gathered crowd ceased talking and split into two, waiting for him.

Sansa stood in the front row, along with Arya and Bran; Daenerys stood in the front but on the opposite side.

Once again, it was like both parties had split, the Northerners on the left and Daenerys’s people on the right. They had fought against the living dead together, and still, there was tension as vast as an ocean between them.

Taking a deep breath, Jon slowly walked between the groups, nodding left and right to all who formally bowed to him.

The Northern all bowed respectfully to their king, while those with Daenerys gave small, yet respectable nods. Daenerys herself didn’t bend, but her violet eyes shined with only love. Jon couldn’t resist but give her a naughty wink before coming to a stop in front of the Maester that waited for him.

“Who stands before the gods to be blessed tonight?” The Maester asked.

“I do,” Jon replied, his voice loud and clear. “I, Jon Snow, son of Eddard of House Stark.”

The lie felt weird on Jon’s tongue, but he’s gotten used to lying by now…wasn’t he?

“Why do you stand before the gods, Lord Snow?” The Maester asked.

“I stand before the gods to ask for their blessings and guidance,” Jon replied. “So that I may call my sister, Sansa Stark, to be crowned as Queen of the North.”

Dead silence fell over the assembled groups, then chaos erupted.

People were shouting, yelling, asking questions, fighting among themselves. Some Northerners were yelling to Daenerys’s group that this was her plan to steal Jon, other’s cheered their support for Sansa.

From her spot, Sansa gasped, her jaw dropping very unladylike to the ground.

“M-M-My lord?” the Maester stammered.

“You heard me,” Jon said, then turned to face the crowd. “I will not be getting crowned tonight, as you all assumed. I have some some thinking, deep rational thinking, and have come to realize that my place is not upon the throne of the North. A true Stark needs to be within Winterfell, and I am no Stark. At least… not in the way I thought.” Jon looked to Sansa. “Sansa, please step forward.”

Sansa’s feet moved without her realizing it, slowly walking across the snowy path until she stood in front of her brother.

“J-Jon…” Sansa stammered. “What… What are you doing?”

Jon took her hands in his. “What should have been done a long time ago. I do not wish to be king, Sansa. You know that. I have… conflictions that do not make me fit here. You are a Stark, and you’ve proven yourself worthy.”

Leaning forward, Jon kissed Sansa’s forehead before he let go of her hands. He walked to where Sansa originally stood and gave her a smile of support.

Sansa’s heart pounded in her chest, but he slowly turned to face the Maester. At first, the older man didn’t know what to say, but he knew better than to question the Starks.

The Maester took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then turned to face the assembled crowd. “Does anyone object to this woman being crowned queen?”

A heavy silence well upon all who watched. The Northerners all glared at Daenerys’s people; Sansa even looked worried that the Dragon Queen would have an outburst. But Daenerys didn’t. She stood as still as a statue, her eyes upon the man she loved.

When no one said anything, the Maester continued. “Is it by the will of the people that you are here?”

“It is by our will,” the Northerners all said in unison.

The Maester nodded and looked to Sansa, the Stark Lady slowly lowering herself to her knees as she bowed her head. Reaching to a servant who stood at his side, the Maester took a crown from upon a pillow and placed it upon Sansa’s auburn curls.

The crown was an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes in the shape of longswords, and howling wolves front. It had been designed by Sansa herself, as she believed Jon to be the son who was to be crowned.

 _‘Now it’s upon my brow,’_ Sansa thought.

“I crown you, Sansa of House Stark, the First of Your Name, Queen of the North; from this day until your last day,” the Maester proclaimed. “Arise Your Grace, and face your people.”

Sansa slowly stood to his feet and turned to face the assembled crowd.

The Northmen all drew their swords and raised them high, chanting together, “The Queen of the North! The Queen of the North! The Queen of the North!”

Jon clapped and cheered for his sister, having never felt prouder. Yet, he did not want to turn his attention from the most important woman in his life. Among the cheering Northmen and women, Jon slowly reached down to grasp her hand. He pressed it to his lips, then tucked it in his arm.

Most of the Northmen were too caught up in the excitement of the crowning to care, but a pair of blue eyes saw the ones who weren’t. Sansa could see the hatred and fury burning behind the eyes of several Northmen and women as if they could picture one of these swords plunged into Daenerys’s chest.

* * *

They celebrated Sansa’s coronation with a feast, of course. But it seemed as if Sansa was the only one who could see how uncomfortable everyone was. Northern Lords and Ladies had brought Jon gifts, but instead, he nodded for them to be given to Sansa.

Several of the Northern lords asked Sansa for the honor of dance, but the newly crowned Queen was too nervous. Instead, she tried to focus upon Jon and Daenerys, who looked at a loss of what to do, as whenever a Northern Lord or Lady rose to speak to Jon, he nodded for them to talk to Daenerys, which the Northmen did not like in the slightest.

‘This is not going to end well for any of us, Jon, least of all.’ Sansa thought. ‘He’s so blinded by love that he didn’t see the rumblings of war that might explode at any moment.’

But she would not be blinded. Sansa had fought too hard to gain Winterfell back, and she’d be damned if her lovesick brother was going to ruin it for them all.

Sansa opened her mouth to say something to Jon, only for Daenerys to surprise everyone by standing to her feet. She clinked her fork against her goblet for attention. The Dragon Queen looked into Jon’s eyes one last time before turning away to make her speech.

“I’ll try and make this short, my lords and ladies,” Daenerys began. “I’m sure you all have much feasting to return too. We have done what most did not believe possible, defeated the living dead, and saved all humanity. The battle, however, had given me some clarity about the future, and what I desire to happen in Westeros.” She took a deep breath. “I would like to announce that my armies and I are leaving and returning to Essos within the next fortnight.”

A heavy silence fell upon the Great Hall as the news slowly washed over them.

“I thank you for your hospitality,” Daenerys continued. “But my kingdoms in Essos are in danger, and they need me. As their queen, I cannot abandon them.”

Jon’s mouth flapped like a gasping fish as Daenerys gave him a small nod before leaving the high table. He stood to his feet to go after her, but Sansa grabbed his arm.

“Jon, no,” Sansa whispered. “Wait…”

Jon yanked his arm free and rushed after Daenerys, shouting her name.

Sansa had half a mind to order him back, she was queen after all, but she knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. Not now.

Wither Daenerys ignored Jon or didn’t hear him, Jon did not know, but that did not stop him from chasing after her to her chambers.

“All of you, out!” Jon bellowed, shouting to Daenerys’s handmaids and servants.

Missandei looked to her Queen for instruction, and when Daenerys nodded, all of them left, leaving the lovers alone.

“When were you going to tell me?” Jon asked. “When were you going to tell me that you were leaving? Did you plan to slip out while I slept?”

“Of course not,” Daenerys replied. “You think I’m some common criminal, sneaking off in the middle of the night?”

Jon grit his teeth. “You are if you think you’re going to steal my child away from me. You don’t belong in Essos, Dany. You belong here, both of you belong in Westeros!”

“No, I don’t!” Daenerys yelled back, feeling tears rising once again. “I don’t belong here, I never have! Westeros is not my home, and I can’t force it to be! In Essos was where I built my legacy, and I need to return there.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Jon said quickly. “We can ride for White Harbor when you’re packed and…”

Daenerys shook her head. “No, Jon, you’re not. Your people need you here. You belong here. I don’t!” she cupped his face. “We need to stop pretending we’re normal people and come into reality. I’m a queen, and you are a king. Erm… former King. You were born here and belong here, no doubt your…cousin wants you by her side. We must do right by our people, no matter what our desires.”

“And our child?” Jon asked, pulling her hands from his face. “What will happen to our child?”

“I’ll raise it as my heir, of course,” Daenerys replied. “When I retake Meereen and…”

“So, you expect me to not be in its life?” Jon exclaimed. “Do you know how far Meereen and Winterfell are from each other? I’ll never see you or it ever again!”

Daenerys turned away as she fought against her tears. “If that’s what has to happen…then so be it.”

“No, it’s not going to happen,” Jon said, storming from her chambers. “It’s not!”

He burst into his chambers and began to tear it apart, looking for a trunk to stuff clothing and his objects inside.

“What are you doing?” Sansa asked, appearing in the doorway.

“Packing,” Jon retorted, not looking up. “I’m leaving with her.”

“Jon, stop being a lovesick fool and think about this!” Sansa blurted out. “You can’t go, and she can’t stay!”

Jon raised his head. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been spending so many of your nights with the Dragon Queen that you haven’t been listening,” Sansa replied. “I’ve heard everything that the Northerner Lords have said before, during, and after the battle against the dead. They will never accept her, Jon! Even if you marry her, nothing will change! The wounds of the Mad King are too deep!”

“SHE’S NOT THE FUCKING MAD KING!” Jon bellowed, slamming his fists into the table. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you all that?! She came here, fought _for_ us, fought _with_ us, risked the lives of her people, and _her own_! Yet you all still hate her!”

“You can’t change the past, Jon!” Sansa argued back. “What’s done is done! We need to look out for ourselves, rebuild the North. The last thing the North wants to do is march for the Southern Queen that they despise. We have a home now! We can fix this!"

Sansa grit her teeth. “I am ordering you, as your Queen, for you not to go anywhere.”

“You’re not going to keep me here, Sansa,” Jon growled. “I love her, and she makes me happy. I'm happy for the first time in my life, and I can’t give that up. I gave you my crown so I have this chance, to live my own life. I’m leaving with Daenerys and her armies and nothing you can do can stop me.”

Sansa looked into his grey eyes, and she saw the fire behind them. Jon meant every single word that he had spoken. There was no changing his mind. “Arya will miss you, you know,” Sansa whispered.

“I know,” Jon said. “She can always come and visit if she wishes. You will be a good queen, Sansa. I know it.”

Sansa looked to a small flagon of ale and two goblets. “Can we at least share one last drink?”

“Of course,” Jon said, nodding. “Why don’t you pour it? I have to find my thinner breeches; I believe it’s quite warm in Meereen.”

Sansa nodded and filled the two goblets, but she didn’t turn to give one to Jon just yet. Instead, she reached into her pocket and took out the small vial of leftover Milk of the Poppy that she hadn’t given back to the Maester.

 _‘The North needs you, Jon,’_ Sansa told herself as she took a deep breath _. ‘This is for your own good.’_

Glancing one last look at Jon’s back to make sure he wasn’t looking, Sansa poured the contents into his goblet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was something! Wasn't it!
> 
> Sansa's the Queen of the North! But why do I get the feeling that her triumph isn't going to last long! Lol. Sansa's doing what she thinks is best, even though she's queen, but she's quickly going to realize that fantasizing living like a Queen and being one will be two different matters. Also, that little ending with her and Jon... hehehe I have a BIG plan for that! It's already mostly typed out, and all I have to do is edit and post it. 
> 
> I usually get around 15 comments, so how about a little wager. If I get 30 comments, then I'll post it by Monday! If not, then we wait until next Friday! Trying to make Friday's the day I update this fanfic. Let's see if you guys can do it.
> 
> Toodles!
> 
> (P.S. Sansa is going to get a redemption arch in this story, remember!)


	15. XV. The Dragon and the Wolf

Sansa watched as Jon slumped in his chair. The Milk of the Poppy worked quickly, just as the Maester had said it would.

_‘But he never told me to use it like this,’_ Sansa thought. _‘I was supposed to give it right back after the battle, yet I kept it.’_

Jon’s head tilted back, the young wolf sighing in his sleep as he whispered, “Dany…”

There it was again.

The main trigger in all their problems.

Daenerys Targaryen.

The North would never follow her. They needed to be their own kingdom, survive on their own wits and values.

_‘We can build a better kingdom then she could ever dream. We’re larger than any other nation in Westeros. It’s time we put our size to use.’_

Turning on her heel, Sansa marched out of Jon’s chambers, only to stop in front of the guards.

“No one enters or exits Jon’s chambers,” Sansa commanded. “Only me, am I understood?”

The Northmen nodded, snapping into attention, their hands on their swords. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Sansa then went to the last person that she thought she would visit: Daenerys. The Unsullied and Dothraki guards looked at Sansa with a puzzled expression, although the Northern Lady managed to play cool.

“I need to speak with your Queen,” Sansa said, giving a small, lady-like smile. “I have a message from my brother.”

Sansa forced herself not to say anything about their lack of appreciation for her new title.

The Unsullied Guard disappeared into Daenerys’s chambers before reappearing, nodding for Sansa to enter. Daenerys’s chambers were in transition of being pack up, yet still being livable. After all, the so-called ‘Queen of Westeros’ couldn’t sleep on the floor.

Handmaidens and chamber-servants flitted about, chattering in their musical, foreign language, unlike anything Sansa had ever heard.

Part of Sansa wanted to sit there and listen to them, to learn about these new cultures that their Dragon Queen might bring to Westeros. But, at the same time, the other part of Sansa knew that Westerosi would never accept them. They would be outcasted, used, and abused until more war broke out, scarring the land in an endless cycle of death and destruction.

No.

No, Sansa would stop this before it ever began. Only she could prevent this from happening.

Missandei appeared, looking at Sansa with the same puzzled expression as the other people in Daenerys’s court. She knew that Sansa never came to Daenerys’s chambers unless it was with her siblings or other Northern Lords. For her to show up unannounced and alone was quite suspicious.

“How can Her Grace help you?” Missandei asked.

“I need to speak with her,” Sansa said. “Now.”

“Her Grace is bathing,” Missandei replied. “You can come back later.”

Sansa shook her head. “No, I will wait. We need to talk right now.”

Missandei arched an eyebrow as Sansa’s forwardness but knew these Northerners were stubborn fools.

She said something to the Handmaidens before turning to disappear into one of the chambers next door with a sigh. A couple of moments later, Daenerys appeared, wrapped in a thick robe, her hair wet from her bath. Steam radiated off her skin, Sansa noticed, almost as if Daenerys was boiling herself alive in her waters.

_‘Wouldn’t surprise me if she did. Her kind claim to be ‘blood of the dragon’. I wonder if she bathes in lava?’_

“Can I help you, Lady Sansa?” Daenerys asked.

“Queen,” Sansa corrected her. “You were at the coronation, were you not?”

Daenerys arched an eyebrow at the haughtiness at this woman, but she didn’t bother retorting. She didn’t have time for this. “Right. ‘Queen’ Sansa, we’re of equal footing now.”

“Yes, we are,” Sansa said, clasping her hands in front of her. “I wanted to make sure that you were leaving, and not using it to trick my brother into supporting your claim to the throne.”

“I am leaving Westeros,” Daenerys replied coolly. “Do not worry. I’m sure that Jon will miss you and your family, but…”

Sansa arched an eyebrow. “Miss us? What are you talking about? Jon is not leaving with you.”

Daenerys’s heart sank to her toes. “What… What do you mean? He was just here not too long ago, claiming he’ll go with me to Meereen and…”

Sansa shook her head. “Jon is of the North. Jon belongs in the North. Jon will stay in the North.”

“He gave you his crown for him to be free,” Daenerys pointed out.

“The North is stubborn, with a rigid belief system,” Sansa said, the words tasting on her tongue like vinegar. “Females cannot rule unless there are no brothers. Jon gave me his crown, yes, but I need him to establish legitimacy to my reign. I’ll make a marriage alliance with him and a Northern Lady under the guise their children become my heirs.”

Daenerys’s hands clenched the front of her robe, her blood boiling at the thought of Jon laying with another. “I highly doubt that’ll happen.

“I was trying to be nice with my words,” Sansa said, her words biting. “But it appears that I must be forward with my meaning. You are not wanted here. You do not belong here. The North will fight against you, never will it fight for you. This is our kingdom, and you need to get out. Jon knows this and commanded me to tell you.”

Not too long ago, Daenerys would have pulled herself up to her tallest height and put this Northern Lady in her place.

She would have become the Dragon; she would have unleashed her flames against these icy lands. But the fear for the safety of her unborn child and desiring peace overcame these fiery emotions. This child made her malleable, easily manipulated when, in the past, she could see her course in life.

Not anymore.

Daenerys was carrying a child created out of love, as well as the future of her House. Her instincts were telling her to protect it, no matter the cost.

“I need to hear those words from Jon,” Daenerys whispered.

“He won’t see you,” Sansa said. “He’s shut himself in his chambers for the next two weeks, planning the best course for our new kingdom.”

“Two weeks?” Daenerys repeated. “He won’t… he won’t see me off?”

Sansa shook her head. “I have told you all that you need to know. Now, I will let you go back to packing.”

With that, Sansa swept out of Daenerys’s chambers without so much as a bow.

* * *

“Don’t listen to her, Your Grace,” Missandei said to Daenerys the moment Sansa had left. “She’s wrong.”

“I have to hear this from Jon,” Daenerys whispered. “I have to…”

Hurrying to the secret door that Jon always used to enter her chambers at night, Daenerys followed the path Jon had showed her went to his. She tugged on the door handle and only found it locked, so she knocked on it, but no answer came.

“Jon?” Daenerys whispered. “Jon… please answer me.”

Inside of Jon’s chambers, there was no answer.

“Jon?” Daenerys whispered. “Please… Please answer me. Sansa came to me. She said that you wanted me gone… Please, tell me that this isn’t true.”

Again, no answer.

“Jon,” Daenerys said, quiet sobs coming up. “Please… Please answer me. Tell me that this isn’t true that you want me here. I feel so alone here, Jon, but you helped me, you and our child are the only bright lights in this world… You give me strength, Jon, you, and our child. Please…say something.”

For a moment, all was still, and then…slowly, the door opened. Daenerys looked up and found herself staring into the warm eyes of her Beloved.

“Our child gives me strength too, Dany,” Jon whispered.

Daenerys gasped and leaped to her feet, throwing her arms around his neck. “What… how…did you make me sit there and beg?”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said quickly. “The milk of the poppy made it difficult to move at first.”

“Milk of the poppy?” Daenerys repeated, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Sansa…” Jon sighed. “When she came here to talk to me, she offered me a goblet of wine. I was going to take it and even turned my back to her in trust as I packed. But then I heard it, the subtle pop of a cork, and the soft gurgle of something being poured into a cup.”

Daenerys’s eyes widened. “She… she was trying to poison you?”

Jon shook his head. “No, she didn’t. I’m guessing she did it to sedate me. Keep me here until you were gone. I don’t know what she had planned for me when I awoke.”

“She mentioned something about arranging a marriage to a Northern lady when the time was right,” Daenerys spat.

Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really? I suspect you weren’t too happy to hear that…”

Daenerys looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Then, she reached down, grabbing his cock through his breeches.

“The only person in this whole world worthy of having you is me,” she whispered, slowly moving her hand.

Jon uttered a low groan of pleasure. “I… What makes you say that…”

“Because you’re a dragon…” Daenerys whispered. “And only a dragon is worthy of another dragon…”

“Half dragon,” Jon corrected her, only to groan again at her skilled hand. “I’m also… half-wolf…”

“Then you’ll be _my_ dragonwolf,” Daenerys replied. “And my point still stands.”

As much as both of them wanted to continue this erotic foreplay, they knew it wasn’t the time, so Daenerys withdrew her hand.

“So, what are we going to do?” Daenerys asked. “Sansa will be back.”

Jon nodded. “Aye, she will. Before I lightly fell asleep, I heard her command the guards to not let anyone into the chambers. No doubt, she’ll return to slip me the tonic.”

“Then, let’s play her at her own game,” Daenerys suggested.

Jon arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Daenerys said. “We let her continue, pretend that she’s slipping you her tonic. You drink a gulp or two, to get you sleepy enough to pass as sedated, but then pour out the rest.”

“I’ll even stay a day or two after you leave,” Jon continued, the plan slowly forming in his head. “At the same time, I maybe can find a trusted servant I can hire as a body double, who will take a big enough gulp that can last a couple of days…”

“… to which you use that time to make your escape,” Daenerys finished. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s going to be terrible to lie to everyone, to trick Sansa,” Jon sighed. “But it’s the only way I know that we can be free.”

Daenerys nodded. “Alright.”

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his deeply once again, before hurrying back to her chambers.

Sansa quickly spread her lie that Jon was in deep thought and refused to be disturbed. Only she was allowed to go in and out of his chambers, and she used the opportunity to slip him more Milk of the Poppy to buy herself more time. She used this time to slow and cement her control over the other Northern lords as their queen.

In her mind, all Sansa needed was for Daenerys to leave Westeros, or at least get far enough away so that Jon couldn’t follow her. However, there was only one person who could ruin this plan, and that was Arya.

Sansa remembered how easily Arya saw through her when she first arrived, through her lies. So, she decided not to lie when Arya asked her why Jon hadn’t appeared for almost four days.

“He’s resting,” Sansa said, her face cold. “A lot is on his mind, and he wants to make sure his next step is the smart one.”

Arya arched an eyebrow. Jon was an infamous brooder, that was one primary that he inherited from their father. But no one brooded for three days.

“I don’t believe you,” Arya said. “There is something else going on.”

Sansa kept her face calm as she pulled Arya into a corner. “Alright, I didn’t want to tell you,” she whispered. “But Jon is considering leaving with the Dragon Queen.”

Arya’s jaw dropped. “That’s impossible. He wouldn’t abandon us.”

“Exactly,” Sansa said. “When I talked to him last, I begged him not to go. We need him! Although I’m queen, it doesn’t look good if I don’t have strong male guidance. So, when I told Jon this, he promised that he would think over what they do next.”

Again, not a lie.

It was the truth, yet twisted for Sansa’s agenda. However, in her heart, Sansa believed that this was for the best. The North needed independence. She refused to bow down to another ruler, no matter who they claimed to be. She was doing this for the North, as much as for herself.

Arya seemed to buy this lie because she didn’t bring up the subject again.

At night, however, it was different.

Jon only took a gulp or two of the Milk of the poppy, just enough to pretend to be sleepy for when Sansa came to check upon him. He slowly learned her pattern. Sansa’d give it to him in Jon’s watered wine at night, so when he ‘slept in’ or was ‘shut in his office,’ it was good.

At night, a member of Daenerys’s servants would come and take a couple of articles of Jon’s clothing or belongings. They couldn’t move everything, and Daenerys told Jon that they could always have new clothes for him when they returned to Meereen. During this time, Jon and Daenerys didn’t lay together, they couldn’t afford to get caught, but it only strengthened their bond.

When the day came for Daenerys’s forces to leave, the Northern Lords and Ladies all were tense. Several held onto the swords at their sides or clutched their loved ones close as if they were afraid this was a trick.

Daenerys saw the fear in their eyes, and once again, nothing but sadness filled her. She had risked everything for these people, her life, her dragons, her armies, and yet they still looked at her like an abomination.

Upon the back of Drogon, Daenerys looked to Rhaegal, now healed from the battle. Her Child looked sad and upset that they were leaving. He kept looking back to the central tower of Winterfell, where Jon’s quarters were.

The bond between the rider and the dragon was strong. Daenerys knew that. Although Jon had only ridden Rhaegal a couple of times, the bond was still there.

“Don’t worry, boy,” Daenerys whispered to Rhaegal. “He’ll be joining us soon.”

Daenerys turned to Sansa, who approached her with her new ‘royal guard.’ “I thank you for hosting us here, at Winterfell, Queen Sansa. I hope your reign proves long and fruitful.”

Sansa lifted her chin. “I know it will. A new age has come to Westeros, and I will be its leader to forge it.”

Daenerys leaned close, lowering her voice so that only Sansa could hear. “Heavy is the crown, Queen Sansa.”

Sansa’s cheek tinged pink. “But only for the weak.”

“No,” Daenerys whispered, looking into those hard, blue eyes. “Heavy is the crown, never for a _true_ queen.”

With that, Daenerys walked to where Drogon waited and climbed upon the back of her mount. “ _Sōvegon_.”

Drogon spread his wings with a cry of triumph, flapping them hard and kicking up the remaining snow as he took off into the sky. Daenerys circled Winterfell one last time, taking one last look, before leading her army to Seaport.

* * *

Inside his chambers, Jon’s mouth felt as if he stuffed it full of sand, but he had to focus.

Daenerys had left the night before, and right on cue, Sansa returned with Jon's milk of the poppy. Jon pretended to take several large gulps of it to ‘drown his sorrows’ but spat it out the moment Sansa was gone.

Jon didn’t know how much of the tonic he had drunk, but he knew it would last for some time. So, he had to hurry with his escape.

Earlier, with the help of Daenerys, Jon found a Northerner that looked enough like him that Sansa wouldn’t think about it much if she didn’t look him in the face. As long as he helps his back turned to her, and drank the tonic, then it would buy them even more time.

Dressed in all-black attire and with Ghost at his side, the night soon came for Jon to make his escape.

Using the tunnels hidden within Winterfell's thick walls to his advantage, Jon crept through the dark halls until he reached the stables.

Jon had to hold his breath when he heard what sounded like a peasant girl and stable-hand were fucking in an empty horse stall next to the secret door he had come out of. Yet, Jon pressed on. He sat uncomfortably for the next ten minutes until the couple left, then hurried to the horse that was waiting for him.

A black stallion with soft saddlebags filled with supplies was waiting for him. Jon quickly untied the reigns from their post and slowly led the stallion out of one of the back doors. The southeastern guard tower wasn’t being defended, as it was attacked during the Battle for the Dawn.

The trio slipped out without anyone seeing them, then Jon swung himself on top of the horse as he sighed.

Turning around, he took one last good look at his home.

_‘Former home,’_ Jon told himself. _‘Forgive me, Arya, Bran, my people. I’m going what I want for the first time in my life.”_

“Well, boy,” Jon said to Ghost. “Best we hurry before our Queen leaves us.”

Kicking the sides of his stallion, Jon road hard over the next couple of days. He made sure to travel through streams or stay on distant roads, as he did not want to be seen.

The internal fear within Jon whispered that Daenerys had left him, that he was going to arrive too late.

Or, even worse, that Sansa’s men would catch him first. Every time a twig snapped or Jon saw a person in the woods. He feared that he would get caught.

But he kept pressing forward.

Then, one late afternoon, as Jon’s stallion trotted over the hill he saw them: the Targaryen banners and sails of it’s waiting fleet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I might have lied. Seeing as you guys dropped 30 comments so quickly I HAD to give you guys this next chapter!
> 
> So, it's finally here: Jon has run away to be with Dany, and we all know the North is gonna HATE it when it's found out. But he's found Dany's fleet & that means our boy Jon (and Ghost) are soon to be off to Essos!
> 
> Seeing as you guys did it so easily, how about let's do the challenge again? I left you on a cliff hanger, and if I can get 30 comments when I'll post the next chapter by Monday. If not, then it's dropping Friday!
> 
> P.S. I have gone back and edited the previous chapter! I can't believe I missed those glaring edits but they've been modified and I even added some stuff as well.


	16. XVI. The Serpent bites the Lion’s Heel

_“Wake up, my love…”_

_Cersei’s green eyes fluttered open as warm hands pressed against her cheek. When they did, Cersei inhaled sharply as she gazed into the face of her greatest love._

_Jaime._

_“Jamie?” Cersei whispered. “What… What are you doing here?”_

_“Waking you up, of course,” Jaime chuckled. “The children are all waiting for you in my solar so that we can break our fast together.”_

_“The… The… The children?” Cersei stammered. “What children?”_

_Jamie’s golden locks shined in the low morning light as he tossed back his head in laughter. “Our children, of course! Come to my love. Your ladies are here to help you prepare for the day.”_

_Slowly, Cersei rose from her thick mattress, her emerald eyes taking in her chambers. These weren’t her chambers back home as Casterly Rock… these were the Red Keep's royal chambers._

_At the snap of Jaime’s fingers, ladies-in-waiting all appeared and rushed forward to help Cersei dress. Her gown was of red velvet and glittered with gold thread, Cersei’s long golden hair was pulled back into her signature crown-shaped style. From the bright light to the rich furnishings, it was as if King’s Landing was alive again._

_A beaming Jaime smirked at Cersei and pulled her into his arms, wrapping them around her waist._

_“Delicious like always…” He purred. “I think I’ll have a taste…”_

_Cersei froze when Jaime pressed his lips to hers, his hands slowly sliding down her to rear, grabbing two handfuls._

_“J-Jaime…” Cersei stammered. “What… What are you doing?”_

_“Kissing you,” Jaime replied, not pulling away._

_“B-But my ladies…” Cersei stammered again. “T… They’ll tell Robert!”_

_“Who’s Robert?” Jaime asked, confused._

_Cersei blinked. “My… My husband.”_

_“My love, I’m your husband,” Jaime said. “Unless you turned into one of those Targaryen cunts and took another.” He put his hand on her forehead. “Are you ill, my love?”_

_Cersei blinked. “N-No…” she said. “Just…” she sighed, shaking her head. “Can you… take me to our children?”_

_Jaime nodded and took her hand. Cersei’s eyes ranked over the House Lannister banners that hung from the ceiling as he leads her down the halls. Servants wore the red and gold livery; nobles bowed as she and Jaime walked arm-in-arm; their relationship in public view of everyone._

_The room that Jaime claimed was his solar, Cersei recognized as belonging to Robert. Or… at least it should have been. Rather than running trophies and naked women decorating the chamber, there was House Lannister banners, armor, and other memorabilia._

_“Mother!” two girls squealed._

_Cersei was almost knocked back as a pair of golden-haired twin girls rushed into her legs. Wrapping their arms around her, the girls both began to talk at once, each one trying to get their mother’s attention. Cersei’s eyes went from the twin girls to three boys sitting at the table, and unsummoned tears began to well in her eyes._

_The eldest was Joffrey, alive and well, his handsome face glowing and showing signs of beard’s stubble. Next to him was Tommen, plump and young, along with another boy that Cersei did not know. She looked back down to the twin girls, both of which shared Myrcella’s face._

_“You’re alive…” she whispered. “You’re all… you’re all alive…”_

_“Good morning, Mother,” Joffrey said, standing up to greet her. “You look well today.”_

_“Your mother is glowing,” Jaime said, his face beaming. “She always glows when she is with child.”_

_“We best hurry up and eat,” Jaime said. “The Court is waiting for their queen.”_

_Cersei’s eyes instantly went down to her belly, a gasp ripping from her throat as she looked at its roundness. She was with child, just as Jaime had said. All three of her children, plus two extra, were alive. Jaime was here with her, openly showering her with his love._

_This was her greatest dream. This was all that Cersei had ever wanted to be queen, to have Jaime at her side, for her children to be the golden lions they were born to be._

_Cersei didn’t eat anything more than a grape but instead pulled the youngest of her sons into her lap. Their family laughed and told jokes, with Joffrey being the primary source of joy; rather than the gloom, he used to have hovered over the family. After everyone had finished their morning meal, Jaime once again took Cersei’s hand._

_Together they walked into the Throne Room, where all the nobles had assembled. They all bowed to the regal lions, Cersei taking the Iron Throne seat as Jaime cleared his throat._

_“Her Grace, Queen Cersei of House Lannister shall now hold court.”_

_The first of the day went by like a blur for Cersei. She couldn’t help but marvel at how the Nobles both cowered before her and respected her. They bowed low enough to kiss her feet, keeping their eyes cast to the floor unless spoken too._

_As was their place._

_No one overcame a Lion._

_Later that night, as Jaime and Cersei laid in bed together, she pressed against him, hungering his touch._

_“This is all I’ve ever wanted…” Cersei whispered._

_Jaime smiled, his hand reaching out to cup her face in his palm. Cersei closed her eyes as she felt his thumb brush her cheek lovingly… Then, she let out a sharp gasp as his fist clenched around her throat._

_Cersei’s eyes flew open, her hands slapping and pushing at Jaime to loosen his grip, but her lover only tightened._

_“You’re no queen,” Jaime said, his voice echoing, growing demonic. “I follow the true Queen… the Dragon Queen…”_

_Suddenly Jaime disappeared. All the candles in the room extinguished themselves, causing Cersei to be surrounded by darkness._

_“Jaime?” Cersei called out. “Jaime, where are you?”_

_A single candle lit itself, revealing the glowing face of Daenerys Targaryen._

_“I am the queen you’ll never be…” Daenerys whispered. “People love me… respect me… worship me… Who is a lion to a dragon?”_

_Cersei grit her teeth and lunged at Daenerys’s laughing face, only for the candle to extinguish and Daenerys into thin air. Cersei whipped around as a hand grabbed her shoulder, the burnt face of Margery Tyrell looming over her._

_“Murderess…” Margery hissed, her sizzling fingers pointing Cersei in the face. “Murderess!”_

_Cersei screamed and tried to turn and run, only to let out a sharp gasp at a pain in her lower stomach. Whimpering softly, Cersei looked down to see a dagger buried into her belly, right where her child would be growing. A small, gloved hand held onto the dagger, gripping it tightly as they sharply jerked the blade to bury it deeper._

_Slowly, Cersei raised her head to look into the eyes of her attacker. The face staring back at her was Jaime’s, but it was rotted and flaking, hanging loosely over the face of someone else. The person reached up and took off Jaime’s face, revealed themselves to be a girl with dark-brown hair and grey eyes._

_“The last name off my list…” the Girl said, yanking the blade out._

Cersei jerked herself awake, screaming. A cold sweat covered her body was the Queen looked frantically around her empty chambers. The lady-in-waiting sleeping at the foot of her bed woke up at the sound of her Mistress’s screams, rushing to see what was wrong.

“Your Grace!” the Lady-in-Waiting gasped. “Your Grace, what’s wrong?”

Before Cersei could answer, a sharp pain stabbed her in her lower stomach, where her child was growing, wetness growing under her thighs. Yanking back the sheets, Cersei lot out an inhumane howl as scarlet greeted her.

The Lady-in-waiting went running to find Qyburn, but by the time the Hand of the Queen had arrived, it was too late.

The Golden Lioness had lost her cub.

“Your Grace…” Qyburn whispered after he had cleaned her up.

“You can’t bring it back, can you?” Cersei asked.

“No, Your Grace,” Qyburn sighed. “That is beyond even my skills.”

“I will not tell Euron,” Cersei said.

Qyburn was confused. “Your Grace?”

“I will -not- tell Euron,” Cersei repeated.

“But… But what will you do about the babe?” Qyburn asked.

Cersei glared at him. “I’ll pretend I’m still pregnant. Then, when the time comes, we’ll find some random whore and take her babe. -THAT- is what we’ll do.”

* * *

Nymra smiled as she watched the youngest of her nieces run among the Water Gardens. Little Dorea and Loreza Sand shrieked with laughter, their long braids flying in the air as they played with the Martell servants. When little Dorea scrambled up one of the orange trees, the shaking branches caused the scent of sweet blossoms to fill the air.

“She’s going to grow into quite the beauty,” Nymra said. “No man in all of Dorne will be able to control her.”

“She is her parents’ daughter,” Lord Harmen said, his voice gruff.

Nymra leaned back in her chair, her head turning to look at the Lord of Hellholt. “Have the spies you have in King’s Landing returned with any reports?”

Lord Harmen nodded. “They have. According to my sources, the Lioness lost her cub.”

Nymra’s eyebrows shot up. “I did not know that Euron got her with child so quickly.”

“That’s the thing,” Lord Harmen said. “Word in the King’s Landing is that the child was not Euron’s, but instead Cersei’s brother.”

Nymra frowned. “I remember hearing rumors that the children she bore to the Usurper Robert, were the seed of her brother.”

“It’s more than a rumor,” Lord Harmen said. “One of my spies… ‘talked’ to one of Cersei’s Ladies.”

Nymra inclined her head. “She did? What did she learn?”

“She claims that the Lady swore that once, she came to check in one Cersei, and found Jaime Lannister in her bed,” Lord Harmen replied. “And that Cersei asked for ‘clean sheets,’ before turning back to her lover.”

Nymra tried not to vomit. Incest was a…touchy subject in Westeros. It was quite common for the nobility to intermarry among themselves. After all, the blood pool was only so large. It was seen as normal. However, no one, save for the Targaryen’s themselves, actually married brother to sister. But the Targaryen’s got away with it because of who they were, and the people loved them.

House Lannister did not have that love and respect, least of all Cersei Lannister.

“I wonder what Euron thought about that…” Nymra said, reaching to the platter at her side to pick up a piece of cheese.

“He was not at the capital at the time,” Lord Harmer said. “He’s been scouting for Daenerys Targaryen, traveling up and down the coast to find her. Cersei gave him strict instructions to not her leave from White Harbor alive, or set up camp on Dragonstone.”

“Then all his searching is going to be for naught,” Nymra said. “Daenerys is not in Westeros.”

Lord Harmer arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Nymra smirked. “A raven arrived not to long ago. She is coming here.”

Lord Harmen’s eyebrows show up. “Oh really? Perhaps then I can offer her one of my sons to seal an alliance.”

Nymra tried not to burst out into laughter. “My Lord Uller, I doubt she wants a Son of Sun. Yes, the sun is hot, but the fire burns hotter.”

Lord Harmen shrugged. “Does not hurt to try. When will she be arriving?”

“Half a fortnight, I believe,” Nymra replied. “They are traveling closely because of Euron.”

“Once her people are within our waters, she’ll be under our protection,” Lord Harmen said. “Cersei can’t risk to wars, least of all against Dorne.”

Nymra nodded and then stood up. “I have to do and prepare for our guests that will arrive soon. Something tells me our dragon queen has a surprise in store for us. A big, surprise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good day everyone! 
> 
> Yes, I'm a woman of my word and so I give you the next chapter! What do you think of Cersei? What do you think of what's happening with Cersei? How do you think the Dornish will react to Dany's arrival, with Jon no less in tow? This is going to be so fun to write!
> 
> I want to get it right, so I believe I won't post it until maybe next week. However, the more comments & chatter I get, the faster I'm motivated to write! 
> 
> Also, since Dany's preggers, I'm gonna bring up this poll again: how many children do you think she's carrying? What are the names do you suggest they have? In the OG they were a boy/girl twins but... I'm considering making it 3 (IE. three heads of the dragon); or something like that.
> 
> Tell me what you think!
> 
> Toodles!


	17. XVII. Into the Serpents Nest

Jon opened the window of his cabin to let in the salty sea air of Dorne. He could hear the shouts of seamen at the docks, the calling of gulls, and the splash of waves against the hull of the ship.

This was the furthest Jon had ever traveled from Winterfell. From the North. It was almost as if he has stepped into a second world, as the olive-skinned people of Dorne were the opposite of the North's pale people.

 _‘No going back now,’_ Jon thought. _‘Not a chance to go back. We’ve been gone for a fortnight. I wonder if Sansa has figured out my deceit yet?’_

A soft snore from the bed behind him made Jon turn around. Cuddling a pillow close to her chest lay Daenerys, one of her creamy legs sticking out from among the blankets and sheets.

Jon smiled softly to himself as he walked to the bed and reached out, gently rubbing one of her silky curls between his fingers.

_‘I don’t care if Sansa tries to drag me back to the North. I’ll kill myself before I let her. My place is here with Dany, and with our child.’_

His eyes traveled to her curved belly, the swell of which could be seen under the thin blankets.

_‘I still can not believe that I’m going to be a father. After all this time…’_

As if sensing his deep thoughts, Daenerys began to move in the bed. She yawned and stretched her body, the subtle pop of joints clicking into a place filled the air. Her eyelids fluttered as she looked up, a small hand rubbing away the sleep from her eyes.

“Jon?” Daenerys yawned.

“Good morning,” Jon breathed.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. The warmth of her mouth instantly filled him with desire.

Daenerys chuckled. “Seems that someone else is happy to see me as well.”

She looked down. Jon traveled her gaze, then quickly grabbed a pillow and covered his groin. He had forgotten he had slept naked. Then again, since he first boarded Daenerys’s ship, Jon doubted that he’d ever sleep with clothes too.

 _‘Not when she’ll just rip them off me like she did last night,_ ’ Jon chuckled to himself.

Daenerys smiled as she sat up, her hand immediately going to her growing belly. Jon’s hand covered her own.

“Are you sick? Can you feel it moving? Shall I go get your handmaidens?”

Daenerys shook her head as she chuckled. “Quite the protective mother hen you are, my love. No, we’re fine.”

Jon rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb as Daenerys looked behind him at the pier.

“We reached Dorne last night. It seems,” Daenerys said. “No going back now, the danger’s over.”

“The danger won’t be over until we’re in open waters, as far away from Westeros as possible,” Jon retorted.

Daenerys arched an eyebrow. “Are you afraid that they’re going to catch us? The North doesn’t have a fleet, and our scouts have done ahead. Euron’s not a threat to us in these waters, Dorne would murder him and deliver his head to Cersei.”

“It doesn’t mean that they don’t have spies working for them. All it takes is a drop or two of poison in your cup, or your food.”

“Her problem is with me. By killing you, Cersei risks angering the North, the Veil, and the Riverlands. That’s three out of the seven kingdoms.”

“I still don’t want to risk it. Others are damned; I should have brought a man or two with me.”

“I have my bodyguards, and soon they shall be yours as well. Your people…”

Jon blinked.

He had forgotten about that.

By running off with Daenerys, he was becoming her husband and king by promising to marry her. He would rule alongside her in whatever lands they conquer.

_‘Back in the North, I constantly said that I didn’t want to be king. What makes this time any different?’_

A knock on their cabin door interrupted their intimate moment. Standing up from the bed, Jon pulled on a pair of breeches and walked to the door, opening it.

Missandei bowed her head with respect, as did the dozen Essosi ladies that stood behind her. “We’re here to dress Her Grace and prepare her for the day. You are summoned on deck, my Lord.”

Jon looked to Daenerys, confused by what was going on, then turned back to the Naathi woman. “Why am I summoned?”

“A Dornish nobleman is here,” Missandei replied. “He asked to speak to the Queen’s Hand. Lord Tyrion is…somewhere, no doubt deep in his cup. So, that leaves you, my Lord.”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not…you don’t have to call me…”

“It’s alright, Jon,” Daenerys said behind him, rising from the bed. “I can handle it.” She looked at Missandei. “Tell the Dornishman that I’ll be on deck in around 20 minutes.”

Missandei nodded and turned to one of the Eossi women, relaying the command in their language before stepping into the cabin.

Jon watched as hot water was brought for Daenerys to wash her face, while her ladies took linen to clean her arms, legs, torso, and intimate parts. Jon’s face grew warm as he realized that those same places he had worshiped last night, every night.

 _‘I suppose I too should dress for the meeting with this Dornish lord,’_ Jon thought. _‘But I can’t just undress in front of these women.’_

Jon felt uncomfortable standing there, but his clothes were within the room as he and Daenerys shared quarters.

“Erm…” Jon coughed, shifting foot to foot. “Can you ladies maybe…turn around so that I can put on my clothes.”

Daenerys smirked at her lover’s evident discomfort. “Don’t be afraid. I’m pretty sure they’ve seen a man’s cock before.”

Jon’s face turned bright red. His grey orbs searched around desperately, looking for something he could use as a barrier between them. Jon’s eyes fell upon the divider that Daenerys used when she bathed not to get water everywhere. Grabbing it, then his clothes, Jon hurried to a dark corner of the cabin and began to change. He tossed his used clothes over the side of the barrier before putting on fresh articles.

A simple woolen shirt would do, tucked into boiled leather breeches. At this moment, Jon realized that he didn’t have a lot of clothes, and the ones he did bring with him were either wool or leather.

_‘I’ll melt in this sweltering Dornish heat if I continue to wear them. Best, I ask Dany for help in making new ones.’_

He pushed back his almost black locks and tied it with a leather thong, stepping out to the giggling of Daenerys’s ladies.

“What?” Jon asked, confused. “What’s wrong?”

Daenerys also had finished dressing and reverted to her Meereense style of clothing. The looseness of her dress allowed her to hide the swell of her belly, yet only added to her elegance.

“Is that all you have to wear, my love?” Daenerys giggled.

Jon hung his head, sheepishly. “I um… yes…”

Daenerys looked to Missandei. “We’re going to have to get him some proper clothes. I don’t want him dying from a heat stroke before we reach Essos.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Missandei chuckled. “I’m sure I can find something. Until then, he’s going to have to suffer.”

Daenerys chuckled and walked to her lover, pressing her lips to his cheek and then his lips. “Shall we go and greet this Dornishman?”

* * *

The olive-skinned Dornishman bowed low at the waist when he caught sight of a silver-head of hair.

Missandei cleared her throat. “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Queen of the…”

Daenerys gave a low chuckle. “It’s alright, Missandei. This once you do not have to announce all of my titles. We’ll be here forever if you do.”

Missandei flashed her queen a smile but nodded, stepping aside.

“You may rise,” Daenerys said, holding out her hand to be kissed.

The Dornishman took it and cradled it gently in his own before he pressed his lips to the back of her palm. “Your Grace. Word reached Dorne of your beauty, although it does not do you justice.”

Daenerys smiled. She knew what flattery was, but decided to play along. “Thank you, ser. Might I ask who sends you?”

“Princess Nymra of House Martell bids your welcome to Dorne,” the Dornishman replied. “And requests your presence at Sunspear.”

“We’ll be more than honored to dine with the Princess,” Daenerys replied. “As long as she does not mind my court.”

“The Princess does not mind at all,” the Dornishman replied. “She said for me to return with all of your entourage.”

Daenerys nodded. “She has my thanks.” She then turned to Jon. “My love, are you coming?”

The Dornishman’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, more so at the title than the man standing behind them. He did not know that the Dragon Queen had a lover.

 _‘There go the wishes of one of my Lords,’_ the Dornishman thought to himself. ‘ _So much for having a Dornish consort in the bed of a dragon.’_

Jon, who was standing in the back, and among the Dothraki guards, didn’t want to move forward. He was shocked that Daenerys would address him so publicly, so quickly, but then again, Jon knew better than to question her wishes. So, Jon slowly walked forward, his feet moving on their own until he stood at Daenerys’s side.

“I thought it would be better that I stay and guard the ship,” Jon said.

Daenerys shook her head. “That would be rude, the Princess asked for all of my court. I cannot dishonor her wishes.”

Jon shifted nervously in his boots but nodded. “Alright, if that if you wish.”

The Dornishman wiped all trace of shock from his face and merely bowed his head. “A carriage has been brought for you, Your Grace.”

Daenerys once again shook her head. “No, I will ride. A Khalessi stays on a horse until her last day on earth.”

The Dornishman didn’t understand what she was talking about, but knew better than to question the ‘Mother of Dragons.’ “Of course, Your Grace.”

Bowing deeply, he gestured for Daenerys and Jon to follow him.

“Grey Worm, come with us,” Daenerys commanded to her general, then turned to her court. “Someone go locate my Hand and tell him I expect to see his sober face at Sunspear.”

Missandei chuckled and nodded, bowing to do as ordered.

In the corner of Jon’s eyes, the Northman could see Varys watching, his dark-blue eyes fastened upon the couple. The Spider’s face was unreadable in a way that troubled Jon. He didn’t know which side the infamous spymaster was on, and the last thing Jon wanted was to risk the life of Daenerys.

‘I must talk to him, sooner or later,’ Jon thought. ‘Sooner rather than later. I need to know if I can trust him… or I should run him through with Longclaw.’

A whine as Jon’s side made him look down to see Ghost whimpering, wagging the tip of his tail. The direwolf looked strained with limp fur that was damp to the touch.

“Fuck boy, forgot you’re not meant for the heat,” Jon said, patting Ghost’s head. “Ya should have stayed in the North.”

Ghost rolled his eyes as if to say ‘yeah, right.’ Both knew that there was no way Ghost would live without him. As the last direwolf for the Starks, save for Nymeria, Ghost would never abandon his master.

“Let’s see if we can find you some nice cool water to bathe in,” Jon offered. “Come on, boy.”

The Dornishman lead Daenerys and her court to a small herd of horses and carraige that had been sent by his Princess, each one of differant values. Missandei and her ladies all climbed into the offered carriage, while Daenerys walked to a white horse provided for her.

“Why do I get the feeling you’d want to ride Drogon into Sunspear more so?” Jon whispered to Daenerys as he helped her onto her horse.

“I don’t want to scare anyone,” Daenerys whispered back. “Then again, I’d be the first Targaryen in history to ride into the Dornish castle on dragonback.”

“One of the first. I’m here too.”

Daenerys smiled to herself. He was acknowledging his heritage, his bloodline, his bond with her. “Oh, really?” she chuckled.

Jon winked at her as he made sure Daenerys was secure on her horse, then we went to his own. A small circle of Dothraki surrounded them, and once they were ready, Daenerys nodded for them to begin the ride to Sunspear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I'm back with another chapter! It's not as long as I wanted, but I still hope you like it. So, Dany and her court have arrived in Dorne! Rather than fast-tracking it, as I did before, I want to spend a chapter or here. Next chapter she'll meet Princess Nymra (she's an OC and takes the place of Adrienne but is actually smart) who will be quite... interesting. (BTW in the books Dany is percieved to be bisexual so.... there's that to think on.).
> 
> After that chapter, we're headed back to the North for a bit, but it's going to be too late for Sansa and the lot to do anything when Jon's deception is revealed. 
> 
> Tell me what you think so far, and if I get 30 comments then I'll update by Wednesday!
> 
> EDIT: After reading some comments I just realized that I freaked some of you guys out. No, Dany is not gonna flirt/sleep with the Dornish Princess. Doesn't mean the Princess won't try to sleep/flirt with her 😅, like Yara back in Meereen.


	18. XVIII. The Sun kneels before the Dragon

“Presenting Her Grace, Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen!”

Nymra found it strange that Daenerys did not use her long line of titles, that she believed the Dragon Queen possessed. Yet, she did not question it. She needed Daenerys as an ally. She needed to make a partnership with this powerful queen.

Slowly, Nymra and her court all bowed low to their knees as Daenerys strode into the Water Gardens, her dress a whisper upon the polished tile. Nymra had carefully selected those to meet with Daenerys and her court. The half a dozen men and women in the room were those who Nymra trusted almost with her life.

“Please, Princess, rise,” a high-pitched yet strong voice said.

Nymra rose to her feet, her amber eyes meeting those of deep violet.

“Your Grace,” Nymra said, bowing as her waist again. “Allow me to welcome you to Dorne formally. All of Dorne and its pleasures are at your whim.”

Daenerys smiled, her hands clasped before her. “I thank you, Princess. However, it would be best if you forgave me for refraining from such pleasures. My condition prevents me.”

Nymra’s eyes slowly moved down to where Daenerys’s hands rested, seeing the small bump of her belly. ‘ _There goes Lord Hellholt’s plans.’_

“We must celebrate, Your Grace,” Nymra said. “House Targaryen will have an heir to sit on the throne after you.”

Daenerys took a deep breath. “That is one of the things we need to talk about. But we can do it later. Please, I would love a tour of your Water Gardens.”

Nymra nodded and gestured for Daenerys to step forward, giving her precedence. “Will you stay the night, Your Grace?”

Daenerys turned and gestured to the people in her court to follow the Martell servants. All of them obeyed their queen and bowed their head, except for one. He was a pale-skinned man who looked wildly out of place. His clothing was made of thick wool and what Nymra believed was boiled leather, his dark-curls already damp from sweat. The horse of a dog at his side looked ready to melt at the drop of a feather. His tongue hung out of his mouth, exposing canids as long as daggers.

_‘Who the hell is he?’_ Nymra thought.

The Man locked eyed with Daenerys, only for her to nod. Then the man turned to follow the other servants. The only person who didn’t leave was the massive hound, who stood protectively at Daenerys’s side like her personal guard.

“I was going to ask you if we could,” Daenerys replied, breaking Nymra from her thoughts. “We need to restock on supplies as there isn’t stops between here and Naath.”

Nymra arched an eyebrow. “Naath? Why would you travel to Naath, Your Grace?”

Daenerys didn’t answer. Instead, she stopped in front of a Desert Rose and bent down to pick it. “Such beauty in a small package,” she inhaled its sweet-musky scent. “I never thought my life that I would be here in the Water Gardens.”

“You belong here most than anyone else, Your Grace,” Nymra pointed out. “After all, it was my ancestor, Maron Martell, who had them designed for his bride, your namesake.”

Daenerys gave a small smile. “Yes, he did. The first Daenerys also began the tradition for all children, no matter their bloodline, to play here and find sanctuary. That is what I want in the world, for children and people to live in peace, to not go hungry, to sleep with a roof over their heads.”

“All the more reason for you to take the Iron Throne,” Nymra said. “With the ‘Light of the West’ gone, you can finally bring us to peace and order.”

Again, Daenerys didn’t reply.

Nymra was confused.

_‘What’s going on here? She should be bragging, beaming about her plans to beat Cersei. Yet, here she is, glowing with pregnancy and talking about Naath.’_

The dog suddenly let out a loud bark, the sound ringing in Nymra’s ears and startling all there. It’s red eyes fastened upon the sparkling waters in the massive human-made pool, whimpering it then looked to Daenerys.

“Yes, you can go for a swim,” Daenerys said. “But do not scare the servants or children that might come.”

Nymra watched as the dog nodded, took a couple of steps back, then ran, getting a flying leap as it dived head-first into the blue waters. Daenerys laughed and took a couple of steps back as not to get splashed, the movement allowing Nymra to see her rounding stomach once again. When Daenerys saw her looking, Nymra tried to look away but wasn’t fast enough.

“I’m sure you have any questions,” Daenerys said, motioning for the two of them to begin walking again.

“Permission to speak freely, Your Grace?” Nymra asked.

“Of course.”

“When we heard of your coming, several Dornish Lords expected to put either themselves or their sons forward to ask for your hand,” Nymra explained.

“I highly doubt they’d want me now,” Daenerys chuckled, placing a loving hand on her belly.

“You act like children born out of wedlock is shameful here,” Nymra pointed out. “By carrying your heir, it shows that you’re fertile. It would make them want you even more. By the gods, I was even going to put myself forward as a possible candidate, and we’d get a highborn to donate his seed. Kill two birds with one stone.”

Daenerys gave her a rueful smile. “As flattered as I am, my husband-to-be would have his sword at the neck of all who tried to take me away. He’s very protective of me, as is Ghost.”

_‘Ghost?’_ Nymra looked to the dog that swam around in the pool, children shyly approaching it, only to giggle when it licked their faces. _‘That must be its name.’_

“If you are engaged, then who shall I show the honor of calling my king?” Nymra asked, turning back to Daenerys. “He must be quite… skilled to tame the Dragon Queen.”

Daenerys smirked. “In more ways than one, my Lady. I’ve finally fallen in love, and I plan to keep it. However, it has caused me to do a lot of deep reflection on the two paths before me.”

“Two paths? What do you mean by that?”

“I can stay in Westeros, take back the throne from Cersei, but the lives of my men, my beloved, and my child at risk to save those who know only the worst of me. Or…”

“Or…? Or what?”

“I can return to the lands that have been my home since the time I was a mere babe. To make the lives of the people I know better. Take back the lands of my ancestors before The Doom.”

“By the gods…” Nymra whispered. “You’re leaving… You’re leaving Westeros.”

Daenerys looked down at the cobbled path. “If there were any other way, I would stay here, Princess Nymra. But I can not. I would be seen as a tyrant, I already am…”

“You can not take the words of a few and use them to blanket all of Westeros,” Nymra pressed. “All the smallfolk desire is peace, for the noble’s games to stop and for them to go on with their lives. They can not have peace if Cersei is on the throne.”

“And what of the smallfolk in Essos who feel that have abandoned them?” Daenerys asked. “There, they have no rights, even less than the smallfolk have here. There, slavery reigns. I began my rule by stopping the terrible act, for that no child will be born in chains. I can not abandon my lands there.”

“Then make an empire,” Nymra pressed. “Rule here as well as there. But you can not abandon us to Cersei’s tyrannical rule.”

Daenerys sighed. “House Targaryen’s time in Westeros is over. Maybe in another 200 years, we will return. But… I can’t describe it. There is a call within me, within my soul, to return to Essos. Call me selfish, call me vain, but I can not ignore this call. I must return.”

Nymra’s head felt like it was going to explode. The Targaryen’s were the only House that ever managed to unify Westeros to bring the nobles' games to heel and stop all the petty wars.

_‘With them gone, what was Westeros’s future?’_

* * *

Jon was led to the chamber for a low ranked noble, at least, that’s what Jon believed them to be.

“Excuse me,” Jon said to the Martell servant who had brought him here. “There has to be some mistake. I shouldn’t be here.”

The Servant looked confused. “I’m sorry? I was told to put all of Her Grace’s court in similar rooms.”

Missandei, who was overseeing the settling of Daenerys’s household, poked her head in. “Is something wrong, Lord Snow?”

Jon shifted nervously in his boots. Of course, Missandei knew Jon’s relationship with Daenerys, but he wasn’t comfortable speaking it aloud.

“I…” Jon stammered. “I’m in the wrong… wrong room…”

Missandei arched an eyebrow and then realized what he meant. She turned to the Martell Servant. “Lord Snow needs to be housed with Her Grace. If not, then have rooms close to them.”

The Martell Servant looked between Missandei and Jon, the puzzle clicking into place. “Oh,” they said. “I… I see, this way then, My Lord.”

Jon shot Missandei a look of gratitude as he was lead to a larger, grander chamber. It was unlike anything Jon had ever seen, with the smooth walls covered in rich fabrics, which were then gathered together to give the illusion of a tent. See-through cloth surrounded the bed, with curtains of gold and amber beads diving the chamber into a sleeping area, private dining area, bathing area, and dressing area.

Already Daenerys’s servents were unloading a couple of her trunks, revealing clothing that intrigued Jon. Most of it was loose, semi-transparent, and were dyed in colors that Jon didn’t even know existed. As the outfits were placed on body-shaped molds or pegs, Jon realized that they would reveal Daenerys’s arms, shoulders, ankles, back, and even belly, body parts that were conservatively covered in the North.

_‘Will Dany be wearing clothing like this in Essos?’_ Jon thought. _‘Would she expect me to wear such fabrics?’_

It just occurred to the Northmen that the weather in Essos would be vastly different than that of the North. Hell, it would be different then maybe that of all Westeros. Jon walked to one of the windows, although calling it wasn’t the kind of windows they had in Winterfell. This one was just a cut out in the stone, and a silk cloth rolled up at the top with a rope at its side, which Jon supposed one would pull when a sand storm hit or to keep out bugs.

_‘But isn’t this what I’ve always wanted? To be free of the North? To travel the world? To be with the woman I loved and wouldn’t judge me for my bastard status? A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, Maester Aemond said. I will never leave Dany alone. Never.’_

“Deep in thought, My Love?” Daenerys said.

Jon almost jumped six feet in the air at her voice. The Northmen whipped around, his heart pounding in his chest at Daenerys’s heart-shaped face.

“You could say that,” Jon confessed.

“It never occurred to me that all of this might be new to you,” Daenerys said, leading him to a gilded window seat. “You’ve never gone farther than maybe than White Harbor.”

“True,” Jon sighed, taking her hand in his. “Although I did travel to Dragonstone to meet you.”

Daenerys smiled, rubbing her thumb against his palm. “Yeah, you did. And look at what happened…you’re here. Soon, we’ll be in Essos.”

“I can’t lie and say that I’m not nervous. But growing up, when I was hated by Catlyn and ignored for most of my life…I would dream that I was Aemon Targaryen, the sone of Viserys II, infamous Dragonknight. Or, I was Pentosi merchant, sailing the world for gold and adventure.”

“No beautiful women in that dream?” Daenerys asked.

Jon’s shoulder’s stagged, his eyes lowering. “Lady Catlyn made it abundantly clear to me that as a Bastard, I would be worth nothing. No one would want to marry me, to carry on my name. Even if my father was the all-noble Ned Stark…I was still a Snow.”

“But you’re so much than that,” Daenerys said, taking his face in her hands. “You're greater than Lady Catlyn could ever imagine.”

“But that’s the thing, Dany. I’m not sure who I am or what I am. Yes, my blood-father might be Rhaegar, but it was Ned who raised me. How can I make them both proud when all I have is the legacy of one and memories of the other?”

Daenerys sighed. “I don’t know, but I do know how you feel. As a child, all I had was my brother Viserys, who told me tales of our great House and how it was my legacy to bring them back. I always thought that I would marry him… after all, he preached about ‘keeping the bloodline pure.’

“But we weren’t all the way pure, not recently with how the House began to intermarry with the other nobles of Westeros. All I’ve ever wanted Jon is a home, a safe place that I can call home, that I can raise my children and be with the man I love. Now that I have you, it’s possible.”

Jon cupped her face in his large palm, brushing his thumb against her cheek. “Every day, when I wake up, I thank the gods for you. It’s going to take me some time to adjust, but…wherever you go, I go.”

He pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers. His breeches were becoming much too tight. His cock strained to be free and inside his love. By now, the servants had gotten the hint and left the chambers, leaving the lovers alone.

Jon pulled Daenerys into his lap, his hands roaming over her body before cradling her swelling belly that separated them. “How much longer until she gets here?”

“She?” Daenerys repeated, sighing as his lips traveled to her neck. “What makes you think it’s a girl?”

“A father knows,” Jon chuckled, sitting up to give her more room.

“Do you not want to desire a son?” Daenerys asked, pulling up her dress to expose her thighs.

Jon shook his head, working to untie his breeches and tugged them down. His hands gripped her hips as Daenerys slid down, a low moan escaping both of their mouths.

“I ever tell you…that joining as one feels like entering an oven?” Jon groaned.

“One of the perks of being Blood of the Dragon…” Daenerys moaned, her head tilting back.

Jon thrust his hips up as Daenerys rocked her body, pushing his cock deeper within her body with every movement. They were going to have to be careful as her pregnancy continued, but right now, all Jon wanted was to push all other thoughts out. All he wanted to feel, touch, taste, and smell was Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.

“Fuck…” Daenerys gasped, her palm pressing against the wall behind Jon.

Jon’s fingers dug into her hips, wanting her to go faster as the pace was too slow for his liking. His grey eyes burned with lust, the blood that coursed through his veins was that of a Dragon and a Wolf, animals that mated for life. Lifting a startled Daenerys in his arms, Jon walked to a nearby desk and knocked everything off it, plopping her on top of it.

It took off Jon’s felt control not to tear Daenerys’s gown in half so he could see her bare. But instead, he placed one of her legs on his shoulders and pushed down his breeches to his ankles, allowing him better control. One hand on Daenerys’s creamy thigh, the other on her waist, Jon began to thrust deeper and harder.

He made sure to stare into Daenerys’s eyes, to watch as her face contorted with pleasure. Daenerys gripped his arms, her sharp nails digging into his woolen shirt as she struggled against her regular loud cries whenever they had sex.

“Stop trying to hold back…” Jon panted, kissing her plump lips. “You know I love to listen to you beg for more…”

“I… I highly doubt… it would be appropriate to make such noises under the roof of a friend…” Daenerys panted.

Her self control was slowly draining away. More than once, Jon gave an incredibly hard thrust, earning a sharp cry from her lips. To try and lower her volume, the Dragon Queen buried her face into his shoulder.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck…” Daenerys moaned. “Yes… there… by the… gods… Jon…”

Jon smirked. He could feel Daenerys’s walls tightening around him, signaling that she was close. Now, he began to lay into her, pushing himself deeper and faster, the erotic music of their moans, groans, and flesh meeting flesh filling the room.

Suddenly, Daenerys’s eyes widened. Her head tossed back with a gasp, her nails digging into Jon’s arms, her inner walls tightening around him like a vice. Jon quickly pressed his lips to hers, swallowing Daenerys’s cry of release as her hot nectar, flooded her womb. It wasn’t long for Jon to follow in his climax, the Northman deeply groaning as he poured into her, the two slumping against each other.

“Enjoy yourself… my love?” Jon asked as he kissed her cheek and neck.

“You have… no idea…” Daenerys said weakly.

“Good, because tonight, I plan to come back for more…” Jon whispered in her ear.

* * *

Later that evening, a Martell Servant knocked on Daenerys and Jon’s chamber, telling them that Princess Nymra had prepared a feast in her honor. Daenerys expressed her thanks, then called her servants to help her prepare. A boiling bath was prepared, scented oils poured in as Daenerys took off her clothes. She bathed herself, then was wrapped in a towel and helped her to a large mirror for her hair and makeup to be done.

“Aren’t you getting dressed?” Daenerys asked, her handmaidens curling her silver locks then braiding it.

Jon lay in their bed, watching her in apparent hunger. “I have nothing to wear.”

“Yes, you do, my Lord,” Missandei said. She nodded to a Dothraki servant girl who held a bundle of clothes. “While you and Her Grace were…busy, I asked around and bought this for you.”

Jon sat up, the sheets exposing his bare chest as he looked at the clothes. Suddenly remembering that he didn’t have any breaches on, Jon blushed bright red and lifted the sheets to cover his lower half. “Erm… could you bring them here?”

Missandei chuckled and gestured to the Dothraki girl to bring them forward. She placed them at a table next to Jon, then they all turned away to give Daenerys their full attention.

Daenerys tried her hardest not to giggle as she watched Jon struggle to put on the clothes that Missandei had bought him. She made a mental note to pay her chief advisor back double the value of whatever this might have cost her.

“Are you excited?” Daenerys asked, still watching Jon.

“Would you upset if I say no?” Jon replied, pulling his hair high and tying it with a cord. “More so… I’m nervous. Grand feasts and banquets aren’t normally my thing. More so, it has to do with Lady Catlyn making sure I was excluded from them…”

Daenerys frowned. “She’s not here anymore. You can stop worrying about what she would think or say.”

“I know that, but her wounds still run deep, Dany… just like those with your brother,” Jon sighed.

“But it was those wounds that made us who we are,” Daenerys pointed out.

She stood up for her handmaidens to help her into her outfit for the night, an elegant red and gold dress made of Lyseni silk. They then helped her into her golden sandals before checking Daenerys over for anything out of place.

“We have to look forward,” Daenerys said. “Not back. We have to, for the sake of ourselves and our child.”

Jon nodded and walked to her. Placing his hand over her swelling belly, he sighed. “You’re right. It’s going to be difficult putting that part of my past behind me, but I will try.”

They were led to a massive feast hall, where no less than three dozen people awaited. At the main table sat Princess Nymra, who stood to her feet and bowed respectfully, followed by her court.

“Your Grace,” Nymra said.

“All Hail Your Grace!” the assembled mass cheered.

Daenerys smiled and raised the Princess from her bow. “Thank you for the invite and hospitality.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Nymra said, gesturing for Daenerys to take the seat of honor next to her. “How could I do so otherwise.” She nodded to the men sitting to her right. “Allow me to introduce my closest advisor: Lord Harmen Uller of Hellholt.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, My Lord,” Daenerys said in greeting.

Harmen Uller looked like a man who had been through several wars yet would still fight no matter the personal cost. He regarded Daenerys with a critical expression, looking her up and down before giving himself a small nod.

“The pleasure is mine, Your Grace,” Lord Uller said. “Can’t remember the last time we had one of your House here.”

“Please accept my apologies for that my House might have caused your region,” Daenerys offered.

Of course, she meant of Rhaegar abandoning the beloved Elia Martell but couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

_ ‘How can I? When the fruit of Rhaegar’s union with Lyanna sits next to me?’ _

“I’m happy to see you awake and here, Your Grace,” Tyrion said from his spot at the table.

Daenerys didn’t even realize that Tyrion was at the table, Varys as well. Tyrion’s face was freshly shaven, and his eyes clear, meaning he hadn’t been drunk for some time.

_ ‘Good. I need him to be clear-minded for our stay here.’ _

“Thank you, Lord Hand,” Daenerys said, sitting down next to the Princess. “I wasn’t expecting a feast. You honor me.”

Nymra waved away the complaint, nodding for everyone to begin eating. Dancers came, wearing clothes that bearly covered anything for both the men and women. Their hips swayed, and armed moved to the music as servants carrying covered dished moved throughout the tables.

“Can I offer you some Gold Sunrise?” Nymra asked of Daenerys, nodding as a servant brought a pitcher of wine that sparkled in the light.

“As much as I would some, I must refine,” Daenerys said, shyly smiled. “However, if you have juice or fruit water, I’d be most grateful.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I forgot about your condition.”

Lord Uller grunted. “I will not lie and say that the sight of you with child is a pleasing sight. I expected to offer up one of my sons.”

Daenerys hide her smile. “I know, and I am sorry, my lord. It wasn’t expected, yet my pregnancy is most welcome to both my House and me. House Targaryen has an heir and will continue.”

Lord Uller’s amber eyes fell upon Jon. “And this is the Father?”

Jon, who helped himself to some spiced chicken, looked up as all eyes turned to him. “I…”

“Yes,” Daenerys said quickly. “His name is Jon Snow.”

“Snow?” Nymra repeated. “You’re a bastard?”

Jon’s ears turned pink. “I…”

“Don’t get your boot strings in a not,” Lord Uller snorted. “No one’s going to run you through. We were in Dorne aren’t held to your prudish laws.”

Jon glanced nervously to Daenerys, who gave him an encouraging smile. “I… um… thank you, My Lord. I’m not just a bastard, though. My father was… a high ranked noble in the North, and I went to the wall to serve the Night’s Water, where I became one of their leaders.”

“A man with skills and a mind,” Nymra commented with a nod. “Good.”

“I am happy you think you, My Lady. I’m sure you’ll also be happy to know that… Her Grace has agreed to marry me.”

Nymra’s eyebrows shot up, yet she quickly wiped all trace of shock from her face. “Then, we must celebrate! A toast must be given.”

“Before you do,” Daenerys interrupted. “We first must talk about Westeros.”

Lord Uller nodded. “Yes, according to Princess Nymra, you claim to be leaving the land?”

Daenerys sighed. “Yes, my Lord, I am. I must return to my kingdom in Essos and free them, as I have gotten letters that say they are under attack.”

“But you leave us under the will of the Tyrant Lioness,” Lord Uller pointed out.

“You don’t have to stay under her,” Jon suddenly interrupted. “Declare yourself independent.”

“Easier said than done, boy,” Lord Uller grunted.

“No, it’s a lot easier than you think,” Jon argued. “The North just declared itself independent, and Cersei doesn’t have the army to bring them to heel. Why not do the same with you? She can not afford to fight a war on two fronts.”

Nymra looked to Lord Uller, surprised by this piece of information. “He does have a point… if he speaks truly, of course.”

“He is telling the truth,” Tyrion said. “We were there and saw Sansa Stark crowned Queen of the North. If they can do it, why not you? After all, Dorne was only recently brought into Westeros, and it was through marriage. If anyone can resist Cersei, it’s you.”

“Say we agree to declare ourselves independent,” Lord Uller said. “What then? How do we stop her from using the Iron Fleet to ravish our trade ships and attack our ports?”

“You sign an alliance with me, of course,” Daenerys said. “I might not become Queen of Westeros, but I will become queen in Essos. Not only that, but I do have Yara Greyjoy allied with me. She’s the only one who can rival Euron’s fleet in Westeros. By signing an alliance with me, I open to you my ports and you mine.”

Nymra rubbed her chin, thinking this over. “It is a good offer… what say you, Lord Uller.”

Lord Uller crossed his arms. “If you swear that the head of Euron is placed at my table, I agree to her terms. The murderer of my daughter will pay.”

“I agree as well,” Nymra said. “But I have one condition. Allow one of my brother’s daughters to go with you, and be my Envoy.”

“Oberyn had more children?” Daenerys asked.

“He had eight daughters,” Nymra chuckled. “And was the proudest father of them all. The current eldest is Sarella and is just as shrewd as he is, but a lot more in control of her emotions. She’s always wanted to travel the world, so I believe you can kill two birds with one stone.”

Daenerys nodded. “I’d love for her to join me if she desires. I also believe that I have her seated upon my Small Council, once I form it in Essos.”

Nymra smiled and held up her goblet. “A toast then, to new alliances and a new future for Dorne!”

Daenerys and her court stayed in Sunspear for two weeks. During which, Daenerys met the other Sand Snakes and even watched them spar with Jon. Her lover was slow to find his footing in the Dornish but was happy to be accepted and in a land where being a bastard wasn’t a complete hindrance.

On the business side, a formal declaration of independence was drawn up, as was the allegiance between Daenerys and Nymra. Both women signed the paper and even added a clause that if one were in trouble, the other would bring aid. Simultaneously, a raven was sent to the Iron Islands, where Daenerys hoped to find Yara so she’d be apart of their plan.

When the time came for the Targaryen forces to leave, Nymra embraced the Dragon Queen and affectionately rubbed her now almost five-month belly.

“I hope to get an invitation to the Naming Ceremony,” Nymra said.

Daenerys chuckled. “Of course you will. Just as I hope to be at yours.”

A tall, dark-skinned young man stood at Nymra’s side. Jaze Uller, the eldest son of Lord Uller, was her groom at the end of the month. Although Daenerys hated she couldn’t stay for the wedding, she gave the couple her blessing.

“Until we meet again,” Nymra said, hugging Daenerys said.

“Until we meet again.”

The Dragon Queen walked up the gangplank and onto her ship. The anchors were lifted, and the ship's push-off, their next stop was Naath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I know it's been a hot second since I updated, but I hope this makes up for it! After all, it's almost twice my normal chapters! So, a lot happened. Dany and Jon arrive in Dorne and they make allies, and of course, everyone wants Dany but she's all Jon's, lol. Also, speaking of Jon, just couldn't keep his hands off his love, could her? Hehe!
> 
> So, Dorne is now it's own Kingdom, as if the North, seems like Cersei's gonna have some trouble on her hands. Speaking of the North, next chapter Sansa learns about Jon's deception & our Forbidden Lovers arrive in Naath! 
> 
> Until next time!


	19. XIX. The Moon alights the Truth

S

ansa knocked twice on the door of Jon’s bed-chamber then went inside. She carried in her hands a goblet of watered wine from the Maester, her cover for how she slipped the Milk of the Poppy into her brother’s system.

As usual, Sansa found Jon facing away from her, staring out the window and bundled in his furs. He hadn’t looked or said a single word for her for the past two fortnights since Daenerys and her party had gone.

 _‘I know he’s a Stark through and through,’_ Sansa thought. _‘No one but us is that stubborn.’_

“Jon?” Sansa said, announcing herself. “I brought your medicine from the Maester.”

Sansa’s story was that Jon had suffered wounds from the battle against the dead, which wasn’t that far from the truth. No one had escaped from that battle unscathed, and Jon was keeping to his chambers until he was fully healed.

_‘But the story can only last for so long. The Northern lords are getting restless.’_

“Jon, can we talk?” Sansa asked. “We need to discuss our plan for the North.”

Again, Jon said nothing.

Instead, he shuffled to the other side of the room – his back still to her – and sat in a chair.

“Will you stop with the damn pouting already?” Sansa snapped, using words that would have given her former Septa a heart attack. “What’s done is done!”

Jon was still silent.

“You can’t leave me to run all of the North by myself!” Sansa yelled at him. “By the Seven, will you stop moping like a child and talk to me?! I know you hate me, but we need to work together there!”

This time, Sansa didn’t give Jon time to turn away.

She stormed at him and jerked him around, only to gasp and stagger backward.

This wasn’t Jon.

Yes, he had a similar build as her brother and height; they even shared slight facial features, but this wasn’t Jon Snow.

“Where is my brother?” Sansa demanded.

The unknown Northman began to tremble. “I…”

Sansa grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard. “Where the fuck is my brother?!”

“Gone, Your Grace,” the Northman blubbered.

“What do you mean, gone?”

“He left two fortnights ago… after the Dragon Queen.”

The blood drained from Sansa’s face as the Queen in the North staggered backward until she hit a wall.

Every day, Sansa came in with ‘Jon’s’ Milk of the Poppy and watched him drink it. She tried to talk to him, but ‘Jon’ always ignored her.

‘I should have known something wasn’t right,’ Sansa thought, her body trembling. ‘He never looked at me, never spoke. Ghost seemingly vanished when he never left Jon’s side when he returned with the Dragon Queen.’

Sansa looked to the Northman. “Where did he say that he was going?!”

“I… I don’t know, Your Grace,” The Northman stammered. “All I know is that he and the Bald Man in the Dragon Queen’s entourage gave me a mountain of gold dragons to pretend to be him.”

_‘Bald Man?’_

Sansa’s mind went back over who worked for Daenerys. Suddenly, it clicked, and out of anyone, Sansa believed that the ‘Bald Man’ most likely referred to Varys, whom Sansa remembered used to be in Kingstanding.

“You betray your Queen for gold?!” Sansa raged.

The Northman dropped to his knees, holding up his hands. “Please, Your Grace! Please forgive me! I was doing it for my family!”

“Guards!” Sansa barked, watching as they burst in. “Put him in the dungeons! He better pray to the Seven that my anger cools by this evening, or else I will have his head!”

Sansa stormed from the rooms and into her own, slamming the door behind her. Breathing heavily, Sansa’s face flushed red with rage. Seizing the nearest thing she could – a cup – Sansa threw it as hard as she could against the wall.

“Of all the stupidest, idiotic, selfish things for him to do!” She bellowed. “What is it about her?! What is it?!”

“Gee, you want to wake up the whole castle?” a voice behind Sansa suddenly asked.

Sansa whipped around, her blue eyes falling upon Arya reclining in one of the chairs by the fire.

“How did you get in my rooms?” Sansa asked.

“Door was open,” Arya replied, playing with her dagger. “You were in such anger when you came in that you didn’t see me.”

“You’ll never believe what Jon’s done!”

“Left us to spend time with his true family, and is most likely having the time of his life?”

Sansa’s jaw dropped. “How did you…?”

“Unlike you, I’m don’t choose to ignore things that aren’t important to me,” Arya retorted. “I knew Jon was going to leave sooner than he did. Why do you think he got out of here so easily?”

“You helped him run away?”

Arya shrugged. “More or less. I just made sure no one was watching him when he needed to leave. I doubt he even knows what I did.”

“Arya, where the hell is he?” Sansa demanded.

“Where do you think?” Arya snapped. “With the love of his life and future child. Far away from us and having adventures even I’d be jealous of.”

Sansa ran a frustrated hand through her hair. “This is bad, this is bad. This is so bad, Arya! How does it look that Jon ran away to be with the Dragon Queen?”

“That he’s a man who’s following his heart and wants to live his own life?” Arya turned to face her. “Jon’s done nothing but protect and serve us, work for us. It’s his turn to do what he wants. If he loves Daenerys, then I say go for it. Hell, he’s even becoming a Father. Still angry that I didn’t get my dragon ride, but I’m sure he’ll be back.”

“And if he doesn’t?!” Sansa hissed. “He could have used his bond with one of those dragons to stop Cersei!”

Arya glared at her. “Oh, so he’s use was only to benefit your needs, is it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Not with your words, but do you forget I know the Game of Faces? I can read your true thoughts, Sansa.” Arya stood up. “You’re worried that the Northerners are going to throw a fit when they learn about Jon? Well, lie and say he’s working for her as a spy. They’re all pig-headed fools anyway. Well, not all of them.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Sansa asked.

“You’ll think of something,” Arya said with a shrug. “You always come up with plans for you to get your way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I know that I've been gone for a while and I'm so sorry for it, college and life have been kicking my butt. But I'm going to try and get back into my normal writing. So, a short Sansa-center chapter and yes, she finally found out the truth. Of course 'Fake Jon' could only last for so long, and it's been around month since Dany and Jon left, I believe. (Might have to go back and fix this if it's been longer). 
> 
> Next chapter we'll see Dany and Jon arrive off the costs of Naath, but they know about the deadly butterflies and won't go on land.
> 
> Until later guys!


	20. XX. Cure of Butterflies

Daenerys breathed in the salty sea air, standing on the bow of her ship with her hands supporting her rounding stomach, now proudly displayed for all to see. She had reached the fifth month in her pregnancy not too long ago, the day marked by her fleet passing through the Dornish Sea. It appeared as if the gods were on her side in Daenerys’s quest home, as now, they were the Summer Sea, getting closer by the day to Meereen.

But first, Daenerys had a surprise for one of her closest friends.

“We aren’t far now, are we?” Daenerys asked Jon.

Jon looked up from his conversation with the ship captain, the two of them standing in front of a large map. “No, we aren’t, my Love. According to the Captain, we should reach Naath by morning’s end.”

Daenerys nodded. “Good, good. I can’t wait to surprise Missandei. She’s going to be so happy.”

Supporting her belly, Daenerys walked below deck to her chambers, where she knew she would find Missandei. Her advisor was reorganizing Daenerys’s wardrobe, as she usually did. No longer were they in the winters of the North in Westeros. No longer did Daenerys have to wear those constricting wool leggings or thick and sweaty furs. Now, Daenerys could wear looser, thinner dresses and outfits, Missandei’s personal favorite clothing choice.

“Missandei?” Daenerys said, opening the door. “Can I talk to you?”

Missandei instantly bowed deeply. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Daenerys beamed at her long-time and closest friend. She did not know what she would do without Missandei at her side, without her guidance and warm spirit. Yet, her next words might deliver her worst fear, but Daenerys knew she had to speak it.

Gesturing for the both of them to sit down upon her bed, Daenerys carefully slid into place. Reaching out, she clasped Missandei’s hands in hers, taking a deep breath.

“Missandei, when I freed you so long ago, I did not know your value,” Daenerys began. “I did not know that you would be a lifelong friend to the woman I would want to be the goodmother of my child and me.”

Missandei tilted her head, confused. “What is a goodmother, Your Grace?”

“A goodparent is like a second parent to the child they are bound to,” Daenerys explained. “If anything happens to me, I know that you’ll be there to guide my child.”

“B-B-But,” Missandei stammered. “Nothing will happen to you, Your Grace,”

Daenerys shook her head. “No one can predict the future. Yes, Jon is here, and with his support, I have asked Ser Jorah to be the goodfather for my child as well, but that is not what I am here to discuss with you.” She felt the tears prick her eyes. “When the sun rises tomorrow morning, we will be off the shores of Naath. We can’t get too close because of the butterflies you told me about, of course. But I will give your food, money, and clothing to build a life there if that is your wish. I will also allow Grey Worm to live with you if you desire.”

Missandei’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Growing up, all Missandei ever wanted was to return to Naath, to return to her home. She wanted to return to her family to see if anyone from her childhood was still there.

But those were the dreams and hopes of a child, of a slave. Those were not the hopes and dreams of Missandei, a Freedwoman. Those were not the hopes and dreams of Missandei, the Chief Advisor of Queen Daenerys Targaryen.

“I thank you, Your Grace,” Missandei said. “Truly, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But I must respectfully decline.”

Daenerys blinked. “What?”

“While I would love to return to Naath, to see and live with my family, it is not my home anymore,” Missandei said. “My home, Your Grace, is with yours. With your child…” she affectionately rubbed Daenerys’s growing belly. “To help you, to guide you, to work with you to achieve the greatness I know you have within you. When you freed the Unsullied and I, you gave us a choice, and we chose you. You are the queen we choose, and we will never abandon you.”

Daenerys lost the fight to hold back her tears. The fat droplets slid down her cheeks, dripping onto the blankets and sheets. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her face. “Queens shouldn’t cry…”

“No,” Missandei said, brushing away Daenerys’s tears with her thumb. “It shows that you’re human, just like we are.”

Daenerys smiled. “Thank you, my friend. I would name you my Hand if the position were not already filled.”

Missandei chuckled. “Lord Tyrion might become jealous if you named me your Hand, Your Grace. You’d always take my advice over his. However, it’s not a bad idea though, Your Grace; to have two Hands, so power balance is even.”

Daenerys tilted her head, thinking it over. “No… It’s not a bad idea either, but… Missandei, can I be honest with you?”

Missandei nodded. “Of course, you can, Your Grace.”

“I fear what’ll happen once I take Meereen,” Daenerys revealed. “Although it is the largest and richest of the Great Cities, it’s still a single city. I will still be threatened by those in Astapor and Yunkai, not to mention the other slave cities. Slavery is an abomination, Missandei, and I swore many years ago to fight so that no man, woman, or child will know it’s crushing weight.”

Missandei frowned, thinking it over. “It’s not as if you are the Queen of all Essos. If you were, then you could make the laws that you desired, Your Grace.”

Daenerys’s eyebrows shot up. “Can you explain what you mean?”

“Well, Essos has never truly been unified before, Your Grace,” Missandei explained. “The ‘Free Cities are constantly fighting over its lands,’ Slave Cites, and other minor Lords in command. Each one has its own set of laws and rules, each one conflicting with the other. Not to mention the different cultures, each one always at war with each other. Blood runs in streams in Essos. Unlike in Westeros—Your Grace, if I might be so bold to say—you have an unadulterated claim there. You are the Blood of Old Valyria. Essos was where your family was born; perhaps it’s where you can return it to its former glory.”

Later that night, as Daenerys laid in bed with Jon, their arms wrapped around her belly as they slept. The young queen rolled over, only to gasp as a dragon dream seized her.

Since she was a young child, Daenerys hadn’t had a dragon dream, newly married to Khal Drogo. It was the dragon dreams that filled her with strength in the early days of her marriage, and it was the dragon dreams that filled her with power now.

Daenerys stood naked above a large pyre, the air around her hot yet dark. Her belly was flat, yet two large dragon eggs laid at her feet. Both were similar yet different, yet ethereally beautiful. The base color of their scales was pure, unaltered snow, with violet swirls in intricate patterns. However, the first one, the largest one, possessed dark-silver swirls, while the second one had golden ones.

“To go forward… you must go back…” boomed a deep voice. “Pass through the Fourteen Flames to the Nest of your blood… There, you will find what you need to become the true Blood of the Dragon…”

Drogon and Rhaegal’s large heads loomed out of the darkness, their eyes glowing. Together, both dragons opened their mouths and bathed their mother with their flames.

Daenerys jerked herself awake; her body covered in sweat, but she wasn’t afraid. Outside, Daenerys thought she heard one of her children's cry as if they knew what she felt.

“Dany?” Jon gasped. “Dany, what’s wrong? Is something wrong with the baby?”

Daenerys rubbed her eyes, shaking her head. “No… No, I’m alright. I just had the wildest dream.”

“Do we need to get Missandei?” Jon asked.

As if summoned by magic, Missandei appeared, tying her robe around her waist. “Your Grace, is something wrong?”

“I need you to bring Ser Jorah and Lord Tyrion,” Daenerys said. “We need to change our course.”

“Where are we going? Your Grace?” Missandei asked.

“Yes, please tell me where,” Jon said, still confused.

Daenerys smiled, rubbing her belly. “The Valyrian Peninsula.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I'm back with another chapter! Yes, I know that it's short but I will be posting... 2 or 3 more chapters of BLOOD OF THE DRAGON this year before I go on holiday, and will these next couple of chapters will be WORTH it! I made this one mostly vague but seeing as where I left it, I plan to go deeper into Draonglord/Valyarin culture and end this section with a BANG! 
> 
> Until next time my friends! :D


	21. XXI. Song of Dragons

According to Tyrion and Jorah, the Valyrian peninsula was a land of breathtaking beauty, yet filled with dangers.

Daenerys remembered when Jorah told her about him and Tyrion’s first trip through the shattered lands that lead to the former knight contacting Greyscale from a Stoneman. Back then, Jorah feared the infection would spread throughout his body, causing him to go mad. Now they knew how to cure Greyscale, so the threat of the Stonemen was lessened but still there.

For the sake of safety for her ships and people, Daenerys commanded that only a handful of longships would travel up the many rivers, rather than the whole fleet. When it came time to choose who would lead the ships, Jon and Jorah both volunteered, but Daenerys shook her head.

“It has to be me,” Daenerys said.

“Dany, no!” Jon protested. “It’s too dangerous, and you’re heavily pregnant.”

“Jon, it has to be me,” Daenerys argued. “I… I can feel it… I have to go.”

Jon looked to Jorah and Tyrion for help, and both men agreed with him.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion warned. “We do not know what roams among those halls.”

“You’re too important to lose,” Jorah said.

“ _Mhysa_ is braved warrior, and I have ever met,” Grey Worm argued. “I go with her.”

“As shall I,” Missandei declared. “Our Queen will be protected by our best ability.”

Jon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Of course they would say that.’

He knew by now that when Grey Worm and Missandei sided with Daenerys, then he had no way of changing her mind.

“Fine,” Jon groaned. “But I’m staying close to you.”

When the longships came, Jon made sure he was in the one Daenerys chose and Grey Worm, Missandei, and several of the highest skilled Unsullied.

The air became misty as their group traveled deeper into the shattered former seat of the dragonlords. Thick vines and overgrowth had taken over the once beautiful homes and architecture that the Valyiran Freehold was famous for. Daenerys had to crane her head back to look at significant buildings, structures large enough for dragons to rest upon.

“Where are we going, Your Grace?” Tyrion asked.

Daenerys frowned, trying to think. “I’m…I’m not sure… How can I…”

The words suddenly stopped on her tongue. Inside her core, Daenerys could feel a strange tug at her gut, her head jerked up at the same time as Jon’s did.

“Jon…” Daenerys whispered.”

“I feel it too,” Jon whispered. “It’s a pull… a calling of… of something?”

Daenerys looked to Drogon and Rhaegal in the skies above, her children spreading their wings freely and filling the air with their song.

“Them…” she breathed. “Follow them.”

Jorah nodded and pointed to the dragons. “Follow them.”

The Unsullied at the rows strained their muscles to keep up with the massive beasts, the dragons leading the small exploration group to what looked like a palace.

Grey Worm and Jon jumped down first, followed by Jorah, then several other Unsullied. Tyrion stayed in the boat with Daenerys and Missandei as Jon, Grey Worm, and the others quickly scouted the location before returning.

“All clear,” Grey Worm called out.

Jon reached out and helped Daenerys, and one arm wrapped protectively around her, the other on the hilt. Of his sword. At the same time, the Unsullied spread out into a and protective circle around the group, their spears pointed and ready to fight at first sight of danger.

The palace that the dragons had to lead them to was larger than anything Daenerys had ever seen before in her life. It looked large enough to house Winterfell, Dragonstone, and even the Red Keep simultaneously and still have room for more.

Tall, cracked columns reached the ceiling, winding staircases seemed to lead everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The walls were decorated with faded painted images of dragons, silver-haired Valyrians, mystical creatures, and bizarre-looking runes in a language that Daenerys did not know.

As they explored the different rooms, Daenerys saw rotting furniture and sopping wet tapestries.

_‘Before the Doom, people lived here,’_ Daenerys remembered. _‘My people. Valyria was home to the greatest civilization on the planet, and in a single day, it was wiped away.’_

Jon couldn’t breathe. The former King in the North had always wanted to travel the world, and now here he was, at the founding of the Dragonlords.

_‘It’s greater than I could ever have imagined…’_ Jon thought. _‘All the stories, all the books in the library couldn’t have prepared me for this.’_

“This…this is where House Targaryen was born?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” Daenerys whispered, running her hand over a dirty wall. “Do you feel it, Jon? The humming in the pit of your stomach?”

Jon nodded. “Yes, I do. I…Part of me is happy Ghost is back on the ship. He’d get lost in here. I wonder if there’s anything left within these buildings?”

“We can always see,” Daenerys said, turning to Grey Worm. “Grey Worm, search as many chambers as you can. Have the Unsullied to gather any weapons, jewelry, art, whatever you believe will have value. As the last Valyrian left, all this is mine by rights, and I plan to put it all to use.”

Jon chuckled and took Daenerys’s hand in his. “Well, there are two others that exist, my dear…”

Daenerys cracked a smile. “True. You have the same right to any of this stuff as I do.”

Grey Worm bowed and turned to his men, giving them the order.

The tugging came once again in Daenerys’s gut, the Dragon Queen realizing that it was her children who were calling her. The group walked up more countless flights of stairs before reaching a large balcony.

It was here where they found Drogon and Rhaegal, the two dragons perched on the terrace with complete ease. After all these centuries, it was still strong enough to bear their combined weight.

It allowed Daenerys to overlook the once-great city from this location, her violet eyes filling with sadness at what she saw. The land was broken, destroyed, thick rivers running through the nearby, close small islands. This was once the home of Dragonlords; now, Daenerys was all that was left.

“Do not be sad, Your Grace,” Missandei said, speaking up.

“How can I not be?” Daenerys asked. “This land… This land was the home of my people. Now, look at it, it’s destroyed.”

Missandei followed the gaze of her Queen and then gave her a small, comforting smile. “Yes, you are right. The land is destroyed. But what is destroyed can be rebuilt, Your Grace.”

Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait a second, Missandei. You are not suggesting that she rebuild this Freehold? There was Stonemen! And not far from here is the Demon Road that I read about. It’s too dangerous for Daenerys even to consider doing that!”

“Her Grace said she wants to break the wheel; she wants to help those who have been downtrodden,” Missandei argued. “The Valyrian Freehold was known for his heavy hand in the slave trade. Why can’t Her Grace, the rightful heir of the Freehold, rebuild it into a nation of freemen and women?”

“Because it’s too dangerous!” Jon protested right back. “Daenerys is also heavy with child! To rebuild this land would take money that she does not have!”

“Not yet,” Daenerys whispered.

Jon turned to his lover. “What do you mean?”

Daenerys spread her arms wide. “Look at this land. This is our true homeland. This is where you and I belong. Here in Essos, not Westeros. We are the only Valyrians left, Jon, and it’s our duty to at least try and rebuild this land.”

“You forget you do not have the money to do so,” Tyrion reminded her.

“True,” Daenerys said. “But what is stopping me from retaking Meereen, Asapor, Yunkai? We have two dragons, and we have our armies.”

Jon frowned, taking all this in.

Daenerys did have a point, and it could be easy. But his fear of her losing their child was great.

“We would have to do it quickly,” Jon suggested. “Your belly is growing by the day. I will not risk you getting hurt, Dany.” He grasped her shoulders. “You have to promise me that if it looks like it’s going bad, we will leave and not risk your life or that of our child.”

Daenerys nodded. “I give you my word.”

Jon’s grip softened, his shoulders relaxing. “We should set out at first light after they finish gathering everything that might be found.”

“We will take back Meereen with Fire and Blood if we have to,” Daenerys swore. “And Astapor and Yunkai. Then, a new dawn will rise on Valyria.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Short chapter, I know, but I've been bogged down with work. This is the last update for the year, with new chapters coming Jan 2021! I'm trying to go through all my FanFics and posting at least one more chapter before the year ends. We're getting closer to more changes in this version, verse the OG version, and this time off gives me more time to think about the changes that I plan to make. 
> 
> Until we meet again, guys!


	22. XXII. Blood of Dragon Pt. 1

The Targaryen forces made camp on the small island of Riknar, located in the heart of the Gulf of Greif. The isle was quite small, and had no human inhabitants, with only animals and plants living there.

This was good, and after the scouting party returned from a thorough search, the Targaryen Forces quickly refilled their dwindling supplies. As the sunset, a small campground was made, with Daenerys and Jon’s tent being placed in the center.

“We are lucky to have found this island, rather than marching through the deserts,” Daenerys commented to Jon as they sat in their tent. “But…I still worry.”

Jon was knelt before Daenerys, carefully rubbing her feet to try and relieve the pressure within. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s too…quiet, too easy,” Daenerys sighed. “The Slavers hardly let me return the first time and give a peaceful transition of power. The Sons of the Harpy and the Old Masters attacking Meereen in my absence. They will want my head.”

Jon frowned, his eyes flickered to Longclaw, before turning back to Daenerys. “They will have to go through me, and the Unsullied first.”

“I am tired of bloodshed, Jon. All I want is peace. But I am naïve to believe peace can be brought through just talking.”

“Sometimes…it takes Fire and Blood,” Jon whispered.

Daenerys blinked. “I… That’s not what…”

Jon shook his head. “I know what you meant, Dany, and I agree. But the question here is, what do we do?”

“I am open to your advice.”

Jon frowned, his mind flickering back to Winterfell, back to the Battle of the Bastards, back to all the wars he fought in.

“From what you have told me, the Slavers hate you for wanting to change their way of life, correct?”

Daenerys nodded. “That is correct.”

“What about them do you not like?”

“They built their empire upon the backs of others in slavery,” Daenerys said.

“But the Valeryans are not innocent from that either. Their empire _too_ was built on the backs of slaves.”

“All the more reason for me to change it.”

“But you can not go around determining what is right, and what is wrong because _you_ do not like it,” Jon pointed out. “Yes, slavery is wrong. But the people here do not think it so.”

Daenerys sat back in her chair with a huff. “Then how should I try and convince them that they are wrong?”

“You told me that Lord Tyrion tried to give them seven years to ‘phase out’ slavery from their economy, and that also did not work.”

Daenerys nodded. “What are you getting at, Jon?”

Jon put Daenerys’s foot down and moved to the other. “You are going to need allies, Dany, to win this war. You’re not immortal. Is there anyone here in Essos that holds a hatred of slavery as you do?”

Daenerys tapped her chin, trying to think. “I…I believe there is one, Braavos. It was built by slaves escaping the Valyrian Empire. Slavery is an abomination in their eyes.”

“They also house the Iron Bank, from what I heard Stannis say. If you got Braavos on your side, as well as the Iron Bank, then that is one of the most powerful nations in the Essos working with you.”

Daenerys nodded, liking where this was going. “So, a representative of mine shall be sent to Braavos. But what about here, in the Gulf of Greif?”

“I always believe in avoiding war as best as we can. For the sake of our child, I do not want you anywhere near swords or fighting,” Jon said. “So, we give the people of Slavery’s Bay a chance. Be diplomatic, but if they refuse…”

Daenerys thought over his words. “What if they have anti-dragon artillery? How can we counter that, if war breaks out?”

“In the past, you rode only Drogon and commanded your dragons that way,” Jon pointed out. “Now, you have two Dragonriders, and we each have our mind.”

Jon’s training with Rhaegal had improved significantly since they left Westeros. Like Daenerys, Jon had a mental connection with his mount, a tug in his gut that hinted to the Northman, Rhaegal’s emotions. Jon knew he was not in full control of the dragon, _‘a dragon is not a slave’,_ Daenerys always told him. But, the respect and bond between rider and mount were as strong as Valyrian steel.

At nights, when Daenerys would go to sleep, Jon would have Missandei translate some of the text in the books they took from the destroyed Valyrian Peninsula. The Naathi could only roughly translate to Common Tongue, but Jon believed there was some secret in the books about dragons. He could feel it.

“In the morning, we should talk to the Council,” Daenerys said. “Come, we should go to sleep.”

Jon smiled and took Daenerys’s hand. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he led her to his bed and helped her in, before climbing in behind her. Almost the second they got comfortable, Ghost jumped in and settled at the foot, his red eyes fastened at the tent flap and his ears up and alert.

“You’ll always have some type of protector it seems,” Jon chuckled. “If not me, then Ghost. Sometimes, I am jealous of how close he is.”

“Do you think he senses the baby?” Daenerys asked, reaching down to scratch behind Ghost’s ears.

“I would not doubt it, Direwolves are smart beasts.”

Daenerys smiled and kissed Ghost’s head, the direwolf yapping and licking her face, before settling down the sleep.

The following morning, Daenerys’s Council met so they could discuss their next plan.

“It was known that Slaver’s Bay fed into the Gulf of Grief, which in turn fed into the cities of Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen,” Daenerys began. “Under the advice of Jon, I believe we should send diplomats to the three kingdoms and try and ask for peace.”

Tyrion blinked. “Your Grace, forgive me, but is it wise? The last time…”

“I know, what happened last time,” Daenerys interrupted it. “And that is another thing we need to talk about. We need to plan our course of an attack if it goes wrong.”

Missandei pointed to the map. “I suggest we start at Astapor. The Red City is the closest, and it’s where all the Unsullied are trained. Who knows how many have been forced into it, while you were gone, Your Grace.”

Jorah cleared his throat. “Your Grace, if we attack Astapor first, word would soon spread to the other Slave Cities.”

“That is what I am hoping for,” Daenerys said. “I made the mistake of not wiping out the Slave Cities when I had the chance. My naïve and belief that they’d just turn from slavery, will forever haunt me. We will take back the cities, one by one until we strike the heart of this region of Essos.”

The Dragon Queen pointed to a small island off the coast of Slaver’s Bay.

“New Ghis,” Daenerys said. “We take it, and send a message that slavery is no longer tolerated in this region.”

“That…That’s a great feat, Your Grace,” Tyrion stammered. “I hope you know what you’re up against.”

“I will not let my pride blind me again,” Daenerys said. “We will take this, one step at a time. Gather as many supplies as we can, we sail for Astapor at first light tomorrow.”

The Council nodded and began to disperse, but Jon grabbed Daenerys’s hand, turning her to him.

“Can we go for a walk? I want to ask you something.”

Daenerys nodded, her Unsullied Guards fanning out in a wide circle, Ghost of course walking at her side. “What is it?”

Jon nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “Erm…seeing as we will be living in Essos…I wanted to ask if you could teach me something.”

“Like what?”

“How to speak…Valyrian, or whatever the language is there.”

Daenerys blinked, surprised. “I…Of course I can, but why do you ask?”

Jon looked out over the oceans. “A wise man once told me, _‘A Targaryen alone in the world is a dangerous thing’_. I have more than accepted my Stark half, but my other…”

A silence fell over the couple.

They did not talk much about Rhaegar and Lyanna, the two people at the core of where the world was today. Daenerys never pushed Jon to talk about his parents, she did not believe it was her place. After all, Daenerys never knew her eldest brother, who was she to press this identity upon Jon?

“…My Targaryen name means more here than it did Westeros. At least…I would think it did,” Jon whispered. “I can’t keep running from the truth, of my blood. But I do not wish to give up being a Stark, Dany.”

“I would never ask you too,” Daenerys swore. “If you wish to honor your Stark blood, I would respect that. After all, our little one has Stark blood in its veins too.”

At the mention of their child, Jon’s lip twitched.

“Did I ever tell you of my aversion to having children? Of even sleeping with whores?” Jon asked.

“You mentioned it in passing, a long time ago. You said you did not wish to make bastards of your children like you were.”

Jon nodded. “Yes, those were my words. It suddenly came into my memory that you accepted my marriage proposal. Which means after we take back your lands…we can be married.”

Daenerys’s eyes grew distant. “But I do not just want them to be ‘my’ lands, Jon. I want us to rule as equals. We are the only Targaryen’s left, I can not be alone again.”

Jon wrapped his arm protectively around her waist. “And I promise you, that shall not never be.”

“Who told you that, by the way?” Daenerys asked. “About a Targaryen being alone?”

Jon’s lips curved into a sad smile. “A Maester at the Wall, Maester Aemon.”

Daenerys frowned. “Aemon? That…that sounds like a Targaryen name.”

“That’s because he was. Maester Aemon was the third son of Maekar the First.”

Daenerys froze, her eyes growing wide. “I…How…?”

“He knew about you,” Jon said. “At least…I believe he did. He told me that he spoke to your brother, Rhaegar, occasionally, but for what he did not say. I wish you could have met him, Dany. For him, the restoration of his House would have meant everything. To know that you brought back dragons…”

“How…How did he die?” Daenerys asked.

“In his sleep. I wept for a night when word reached me. He was a great man.”

Daenerys’s lip trembled. Her heart ached to know that there was another Targaryen in Westeros, another family member that she could have met, but didn’t.

“We should honor him one day,” Daenerys suggested. “Perhaps, name a city, or road after him.”

“Knowing the Maester, he would rather prefer a library,” Jon chuckled. “ _The Aemon Archives_ , how about that for a name?”

Daenerys smiled. “I love…” she suddenly froze, her eyes growing wide.

“What?!” Jon panicked, his hand on his sword, looking franticly around. “What is it?”

Daenerys held her stomach in her hands, her eyes growing wider. “Oh…oh…”

“Dany, what’s wrong?” Jon asked. “Is it the baby?”

Daenerys smiled. “You might say that.”

She grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly. Jon frowned, confused, only to gasp when he felt something lightly hit his palm.

“I…did it just…”

Daenerys put her finger to her lips and moved his hand to the right, this time, the baby within kicked harder.

“It moved…” Jon breathed. “Our child…”

“Is alive and thriving,” Daenerys said, smiling. “Strong as well, feel its kick.”

Jon chuckled as the babe kicked again, almost as if demanding its parents' attention. “It’s going to be a trouble maker, I can sense it.”

“I hope not, I need to sleep at night!” Daenerys protested.

Jon pulled her close, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead. “Come, let us return to the campgrounds, so we can help with the packing. As you say, we leave at first light.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!!
> 
> I'm back from my holiday and I can't wait to get posting again! From now on, every first Friday of the month, this story is getting an update until it's finished. Depending on if I get inspired, I might post more!
> 
> But, now for what happened here! Tell me what you guys thought, and who's side are you on? Was Jon right in saying what he did to Dany? What do you think of their plan to involve Braavos? Are they wise to give Slaver's Bay a chance to surrender, rather than go to war? BTW, Dany's like 5 or 6 months I believe (I gotta go back and make sure my timeline is right) so she doesn't have long!
> 
> A new, and longer chapter, will be posted this Friday!
> 
> TTYL!


	23. XXIII. Truth, Consequences and Rewards

Sansa knew she has backed herself into a corner.

After months of making excuses for Jon’s absence from the Court, the Queen in the North could not do it anymore.

The Northern Nobles were restless, Jon’s allies were demanding to see him. Arya wasn’t of much help, Sansa found out. Her sister would much rather sit in the back of the room and watch the Northern lords argue with each other, rather than helping Sansa.

_‘I can’t put this off any longer,’_ Sansa thought one morning. _‘I have to tell the truth… I have to…No, no, I can not tell the truth. How would the Lord react if they learned their former king ran off with the Dragon Queen?’_

Sansa shook her head. _‘No, I have to be crafty about it. I have to figure out a way to turn this to my favor…’_

The Queen broke her fast with a light duck broth, before going talk to Bran.

Sansa had not seen much of her brother, as he spent his time by the Weirwood tree, staring off into the distance. Sansa did not know what he was seeing, nor did she ask, but today, she needed her brother to be open with her.

Bran’s attendants snapped to attention as Sansa approached, bowing their heads with respect. Bran was in his chair, like always, his eyes clouded over as he _‘Looked’._

“Bran?” Sansa said, her voice soft. “Bran, can you hear me?”

For a moment, Bran did not move. His body as still as ever. Then, his head jerked down, and his eyes became unclouded, focused on her.

“I can always hear you, Sansa,” Bran replied. “How can I help you?”

“I need you to look for Jon,” Sansa whispered. “Is he… alive?”

“Yes.”

Sansa waited for Bran to tell her more, but he did not elaborate. ‘I forgot he bearly gives more than a couple of lines of dialogue.’

“Where is he?” Sansa asked. “And don’t just say Essos, please.”

“Near Astapor,” Bran replied. “He and Daenerys are planning on taking the city.”

Sansa frowned. _‘Of course, he’ll be over there…’_

“Can you tell me if… he is planning on coming back?” Sansa asked.

“He’s not,” Bran replied. “Why are you here, Sansa?”

“You just answered my question,” Sansa replied. “It seems Jon has abandoned us to our fate.”

“He’s not abandoning us. Jon is doing what he wants, Sansa.”

“And that’s the problem…” Sansa grumbled.

She crossed her arms with a huff, drumming her fingers against her forearm. “Thank you, Bran.”

Bran watched Sansa walk away but said nothing. It was for the best that she did not know what the future for her lay. After all, the road of fate had many paths, but how one reached the end was up to them.

A little while later, Sansa called the Northern lords all in the Greathall for a meeting, now ready to speak to them. Everyone was confused at the abrupt summons but waited to hear what their queen wanted to say.

Like always, Arya lurked in the background, her sharp grey eyes upon her sister.

“I am sure you are all wondering why I summoned you here, my Lords,” Sansa began. “It is because I must confess something and ask your forgiveness.”

Sansa took a deep breath. “A lot of you have been wondering where my brother, the former King in the North, has gone. I will tell you; Jon is not here. He has gone to Essos with the Dragon Queen.”

“WHAT?! A Northman bellowed at the top of his lungs.

Everyone began to shout and curse pointing fingers and shouting over Sansa who was trying to continue her story.

“SHUT UP!” Ayra yelled from the back. “I SAID, SHUT YOUR FUCKIN’ MOUTHS!”

At the sound of Arya’s voice, the mouths of everyone snapped shut. No one had hardly heard Arya speak more than three words since the fight against the wights. For her to speak now, told them all this must be serious.

“Thank you,” Sansa said, nodding to her sister, then turning to the assembly. “You heard me right. My brother is not here. He is in Essos…at my bequest.”

Arya arched an eyebrow, yet said nothing.

For now.

“Jon and I spoke, and we believed it was best for him to leave,” Sansa continued, her lie as smooth as oil. “The Dragon Queen had made it clear she did not want to stay in Westeros, and I needed someone I trusted in her Court.”

“The Court of a Foreign Invader at the head of a savage army,” a Northman scoffed.

“The Court of a person who has ties with a land we do not know, yet can give us aid if need be,” Sansa countered. “We are lucky, for the moment, that Cersei has not attacked us. Or planning a counter strike with her armies. Jon is there as my eyes and ears. If we need help, he influences the Dragon Queen to help us.”

Sansa dared not speak on how Jon might ‘influence’ Daenerys on helping them. After all, the lie was already a wide net, and she could not risk holes being found in it at the moment.

“Right now, we need to focus on rebuilding our lands, our castles, and preparing ourselves for a battle I’m sure is coming,” Sansa said. “Cersei, not Essos, should have our primary attention. We can not let those Southerners get the best of us, can we?”

Her carefully chosen words had the desired effect. The best way to rile up a Northman was to act as if a Southerner might be better at them than something. The Northern Lords all beat their fists on their tables and shouted, declaring themselves better than any ‘Lilly livered’ Southerner.

“We will formally declare ourselves independent from the South by the morrow,” Sansa said, lifting her chin. “Between the Veil and our lands, no one will dare stand against the Northern Kingdom!”

They all shouted and clapped their hands, cheering their Queen. While Sansa basked in their praise, she forced herself not to look at Arya. Her younger sister had seen straight through her lie, but it was nothing she could do.

* * *

Jon would never tire of the sensation of flying.

Upon the back of a dragon, Jon felt invincible, he felt strong, he felt like he could take on the world. In the skies, nothing could harm him, he could protect all of those loyal to him, and vanquish all his enemies.

Over the last couple of days, his skill in dragon riding had improved, at least that was what Daenerys told him. The bond between him and Rhaegal was as strong as iron and had gotten to the point in which Jon could believe himself able to feel the dragon's inner mind. At first, it terrified him, but the most Jon practiced, the stronger he was able to understand his dragon.

It even got to the point to which Jon believed he could ‘summon’ Rhaegal from anywhere, if not at least ask the dragon to come to him.

_‘A dragon is not a slave,’_ Daenerys always told him during their practicing together. _‘Rhaegal is bonded with you because he wants to. Do not abuse that trust.’_

_‘I won’t,’_ Jon always told himself. _‘I will never abuse it.’_

One morning, a Dothraki scout returned with a captive on his horse, a fair-skinned girl dressed in clothes Jon had never seen before. The thinness of the fabric made her look almost naked, and around her neck was a strange necklace, with a loop in front, like a keyring.

The girl was brought to Daenerys, who looked to the Dothraki scout with an arched eyebrow. The two began to speak in the Dothraki tongue, and Jon, who was clueless, looked to Missandei for help.

“What are they saying?” Jon whispered.

“Her Grace is asking the Scout where he got the girl,” Missandei replied.

“What does he say?” Jon asked.

“The Scout says he found her while watering his horse at a nearby river,” Missandei explained. “According to him, the girl was alone and looked to be cleaning clothes.”

“Why did he just…kidnap her?” Jon asked.

From the rough learnings Jon had from Daenerys, the Dothraki were not ones to just…let beautiful women pass them by. Their history of rape, kidnapping, and pillaging was a long one; so much so, that Daenerys had banned all three under the cost of death.

“He claims, he did not want to just leave her alone,” Missandei said.

Jon looked to Daenerys, who was now walking to the girl. She was gesturing to the Dothraki Scout, clearly asking a series of questions.

“Now what are they saying?” Jon asked.

“Her Grace asks if the Scout forced himself on her,” Missandei replied. “The girl is telling her, no, but he did kidnap her from her chores. Her master will not like his clothes not being washed.”

_‘Master?’_

It suddenly dawned on Jon that the necklace around the girls’ neck wasn’t a necklace at all. It was a slave collar.

Jon had seen such a thing a couple of times. Daenerys herself had a version of one, a memento she claimed she kept from Essos, yet she refused to tell him what it was for.

_‘I have been sold as a broodmare…raped and abused…’_ were Daenerys’s words.

_‘Could she have had to wear something like that before?’_ Jon wondered.

Daenerys glanced at the Scout and waved him away, then turned back to the Girl. The two continued to talk before Daenerys looked to a couple of her handmaidens to take the girl away. Once she was gone, Jon stepped forward.

“What’s going on?” Jon asked.

“That girl is a slave from Astapor,” Daenerys replied, her eyes narrow. “My fears are true.”

“We should have known that the Good Masters would pick up their trade again, when Your Grace left,” Missandei pointed out.

“Yes, I should have,” Daenerys said. “And if the words of our scouts speak true, then we are close to the city.”

“How come their scouts haven’t seen us, first?” Jon asked.

Daenerys shrugged a gesture that always made Jon chuckle. “Perhaps it’s because they aren’t expecting us. Then again, if we’re that close, we need to make plans to take it.”

Jon crossed his arms. “Dan…Daenerys, do you mind if I talk to you, for a moment?”

Daenerys arched her eyebrow but nodded.

She and Jon walked a little ways away from the group, yet of course, her guards stayed nearby.

“What do you want to talk about?” Daenerys asked.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” Jon began. “And, seeing as you are getting closer and closer to childbirth, I want to ask you something.”

Daenerys nodded. “What is it?”

“I want, at least until you give birth, to help you lead,” Jon said. “And, before you think I’m trying to take power from you, I’m not. I… I just need help, Dany, to find my place here. All my life I’ve done nothing but fight, or be a fighter. Now, I’m in a strange land, with strange people. Let me help you.”

“Jon… I…”

“Please,” Jon said, hoping that it did not look like he was begging. “I do not want you to over stress yourself. At least until the baby is born, then, I’ll give all the power back to you.”

The corner of Daenerys’s lip tugged as she fought against laughing. “Jon, that’s just it, I do not want all the power to myself.”

“What?”

“Power corrupts, was what an old Councilor once told me,” Daenerys explained. “Back in Meereen, I ruled as Queen, but I had a Small Council that guided me. I also had representatives from the different castes on that council, so that no one’s needs were ignored. A Queen not only rules, but she listens. I need a balance to me, and I cannot imagine someone better than you.”

Jon looked away. “I never wanted to be a king, Dany.”

“Maybe, it was that you were the king to the wrong people,” Daenerys said gently. “I hate to dig up old wounds, but…you were king for under a fortnight, and the moment you did something the Northmen did not like, they tried to get rid of you.”

Daenerys took his hand and placed it on her belly. She had grown so large now, that Jon was surprised that Daenerys could even walk.

“You told me a while ago…that a Targaryen alone in the world is a dangerous thing,” Daenerys whispered. “Then don’t leave me alone. Rule along with side me…as my king, my love, the father of my child, and my equal.” Her lip quivered. “The Targaryen madness…”

She did not have to finish her sentence.

Jon knew of Daenerys’s fears of becoming like her father. While he believed such superstitions were folly, Jon understood her fears.

Jon slowly covered Daenerys’s hand with his own, his steely-grey eyes meeting her violet. “Nothing in the world would tear me apart from your side. Your home is now my home. We will do this together.”

* * *

A couple of days later, Qaqhal mo Shollhaz reclined in his chair with a sigh of pleasure.

The Great Master reached down and pushed the head of the slave girl closer, wanting more of her highly skilled mouth.

_‘I must thank that one pleasure house in Lys, for sending her to me,’_ Qaqhal thought. _‘Between her mouth and cunt, my seed never stops spilling.’_

Not far from where Qaqhal sat, an Unsullied soldier stood silent, still as a statue.

The practice of making Unsullied had been banned by the Dragon Whore, Qaqhal remembered, but she wasn’t here. No, she left Slaver’s Bay to try and rule an unknown kingdom, and it was quite easy to pick up the pieces of her fractured lands.

Now, everything was back to where it belonged in Astapor. The slave trade flourished in Slavery’s Bay, as it always had done.

Qaqhal sighed and tilted his head back, feeling pressure building with his groin, signaling his release was coming. However, as he looked up, something caught his attention.

A large bird flew in the skies above his pyramid. Normally, which things meant nothing, but the way the bird flew seemed… off to the Good Master. It more-so glided, rather than flapped its wings to fly.

Then, the ‘bird’ let out a roar that Qaqhal was sure Meereen could hear.

The Good Master leaped to his feet as the ‘bird’ dipped down and dived, growing larger and larger by the second. Within moments the ‘bird’ revealed itself not as an aviary, but a lizard, a massive lizard with swords for teeth and breath hot enough to melt stone.

It was a dragon.

Qaqhal shoved the girl away from his cock and rushed to the balcony. The Good Master’s eyes widened in horror as a sea of endless Dothraki and Unsullied soldiers stood in front of the main Harpy Gate.

In front of the army sat a fair-skinned man upon a black horse, his hair bound with a simple leather thong, and a massive dog at his side. He wore the armor of boiled leather, yet the breastplate on his chest was made of metal, and had a three-headed dragon it, along with a strange-looking dog. The man held a whip in a hand, yet the thing looked to be too large for the horse he sat upon.

There wasn’t time to assemble the Unsullied inside the city, as most were still green boys who had only achieved half their training. The Astapori soldiers couldn’t go out and fight, as everyone feared the Dothraki and would never face them in open battle.

The best the Good Master could hope for was to parlay, but some part of Qaqhal told him that this man would not hear it. Still, it was worth a try.

About an hour later a small caravan of slaves under a white flag exited the Harpy Gates. With them were several large wagons of gold, silver, food, rich cloth, herbs and spices, copper, weapons; anything of value the Good Masters knew would placate the Dothraki from before. The Slaves lined up the carts and wagons in front of the Man’s horse, while a Good Master who had been carried with the items jumped down.

“Where is she?” the Man demanded. “Where is the Dragon Queen?”

“You should put her from your mind, at the moment,” the Man replied. “And place your attention on me.”

The Good Master arched an eyebrow. “And who might you be? The Dragon Whore sent one of her dogs to do her dirty work?”

Before the Good Master could blink, the Man drew his sword and pointed it at the fat man’s throat. The Good Master took note of the glint of the steel, and of the white dog head with red eyes that glittered on the pommel.

“You stand before His Grace, Jaemon Targaryen,” a brown-skinned woman said at the Man’s side. “Future husband to Her Grace, Daenerys Targaryen.”

He trembled as he looked up into Jaemon’s fiery gaze, unable to speak or move. In the skies above, Rhaegal flapped his leathery wings, shrieking loud enough to wake the stone harpies that Astapor claimed protected it.

“Her Grace told me that you Good Masters were the lowest of the low,” Jaemon said, his voice loud and clear. “It appears it did not take you long to slip back into your terrible ways when you believed she had left.”

The Good Master tried to speak, but his words only came out in a strangled gurgle.

Jaemon looked to Missandei. “Translate what I say.”

Missandei nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Jaemon turned back to the Good Master. “Did you think I was gone?”

The Good Master’s mouth flapped like a fish, gasping for air. “W…We… erm…”

Jaemon silenced him with a withering look. “I will not waste my breath on inferior men like you. So, I will be clear: the gold, silver, and whatever else is in those carts and wagons, House Targaryen accept it. But it’s not enough.”

“N-N-Not enough…?” the Good Master stammered.

Jaemon nodded. “It’s not enough because I know that behind those walls are thousands of slaves. Men, women, and children that you have forced into backbreaking labor and service, against Her Grace’s explicit orders that slavery was finished in this Bay!”

The Good Master flinched at his raised voice, but Jaemon didn’t care.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t allow our armies to sack your city,” Jaemon hissed.

The Good Master puffed out his chest, trying to give out a false sense of bravado. “B-Because we have Unsullied now!” he said. “Behind those walls are the freshest crop of the best soldiers the world has ever known!”

Grey Worm shifted in his spot next to Missandei.

The thought of other boys going through the rigorous and painful process of being Unsullied made his blood boil. But then a thought came to him, and he looked to Missandei, leaning over to whisper in her ear as the Good Master continued to talk.

“… the Dothraki knew the reputation of our Unsullied,” the Good Master bragged. “They will fall here, just as they did during the Century of Blood!”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Missandei interrupted. “But this man is lying.”

Jaemon inclined his head. “What do you mean?”

“Grey Worm says that it takes at least seven years for an Unsullied to achieve their full training,” Missandei revealed. “We have been gone for less than a year. And since Her Grace took the last large, forgive my language, ‘crop’ of Unsullied, it would mean that…”

“The soldiers behind those walls are nothing more than Green Boys,” Jaemon finished, his grey eyes glittering with rage.

The Good Master gulped; he knew that this lie had been caught. Glancing behind him, he looked to the people lining the Harpy’s Gate, desperate for help. He made a small signal with his hand, a signal of which Grey Worm saw.

Acting quickly, Grey Worm snatched Missandei and Jaemon from their horses as half a dozen arrows shot in their direction. The small band of Unsullied quickly wrapped themselves protectively around the two, with Grey Worm holding his lover close. The poor horses, unfortunately, were forced to take the brunt of the arrows. The animals shrieking in pain as the razor-sharp barbed tips buried themselves into their bodies.

Thankfully, Ghost managed to move out of the way before he too could get hurt. The massive direwolf launched himself at the Good Master, while Grey Worm held a knife to his throat.

No word had to be said. All Jaemon did was give a small nod and the Good Master let out a strangled gasp as his throat was cleanly cut. The Unsullied opened the circle briefly for the Good Masters on the Harpy’s Gate could see the fate of their comrade.

“Bring me the head of every Good Master in Astapor,” Jaemon commanded, his voice loud and clear for the armies to hear. “Strike off the chains of every slave you see, tell them they have been freed. You are to not rape or harm children but can take spoils. I want every image of the harpy burned, the statues defaced, and its temples burned to the ground!”

Slaver’s Bay thought that they had gotten rid of House Targaryen. Instead, the House had returned with a burning vengeance hot enough to turn them all to ash. Fire and Blood were its words, and Jaemon would deliver upon his House’s foes.

The armies did as she commanded.

The Harpy’s Gate never got the chance to close before thousands of Dothraki and Unsullied burst through. One by one, the handful of Good Masters that ruled over hundreds of thousands were brought down.

Jaemon did not discriminate when it came to the Good Masters dying. Men and women both lost their heads, as both genders had profited from the slave trade. Only the children of the Good Masters were spared.

The collars and chains of the slaves were removed, and rather than run away and hide, several picked up weapons to join in the fight. Dothraki swept the city, doing most of the killing, but was kept under a tight rein by Asheffi. Qhono’s sister had managed to seize control of the Dothraki after all.

Grey Worm, meanwhile, had his separate mission on the streets of Astapor. With his most trusted men, they went looking for this new ‘crop’ of Unsullied boys. It was not too hard to find his old barracks, bile rising in his throat at the sight. He would not leave them there.

As the sun began to set and the sack was nearing completion, Grey Worm marched the boys out of Astapor and to stand before Jaemon. Several other former slaves had joined them, a large crowd gathering before Jaemon, who had led the assault on many fronts himself.

Jaemon wasn’t hurt, save for a minor cut on his cheek, but that would heal quickly. He looked around for Missandei, and when he saw her, he nodded her forward. “Missandei, can you translate for my please?”

Missandei nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Jaemon turned back to the assembled mass of people. “Today, Her Grace, Daenerys Targaryen and I give you a chouse: life back in bondage, or live as freedmen and women in your city, your Astapor. Legends say that the stones are red because of the blood the slaves were poured into the mixture to make the walls stronger. Now, we give it back to you. Those who wish to follow us and our armies are welcome. Her Grace and I plan to march on Meereen, and then Yunaki, uniting all of the cities under a single crown. The Crown, of House Targaryen. The choice is yours.”

The former slaves and Unsullied cadets looked at each other.

They knew of Daenerys Targaryen; they knew of her history. They did not know this man, and yet, he acted in the will of her.

When the armies returned to the Targaryen camp, Daenerys was there to greet them. At the sight of the silver-haired Queen, the former slaves and Unsullied cadets all gasped.

They knew of Daenerys’s reputation. The Good Masters would use this woman as a weapon against them. They said she didn’t care about slaves and was just causing chaos where she went. But that wasn’t what they saw. They saw a woman who had lived up to her promise not so long ago of returning to free the slaves, and that was what she had just done.

“ _Mhysa_!” a former slave said, remembering Daenerys’s old title.

“ _Mhysa_!” another former slave said, louder this time.

“ _Mhysa_!” they began to chant. “ _Mhysa! Mhysa! Mhysa_!”

_Mother…_ it was a title that Daenerys held in higher regard than her royal ones. It was a title she had earned and deserved. A mother took care of and watched over her children, and that was what she would do here in Essos.

Jaemon looked to Daenerys and saw she had tears forming in her eyes, yet quickly wiped away. She spoke to them in their tongue, before gesturing for them to follow the Dothraki and Unsullied that served under her, to get rest and to have food.

“Jon, you’re back,” Daenerys said, holding out her hands.

Jon took them, drawing his love close and pressing his lips to hers. Daenerys sighed into the kiss, only to playfully push him away, waving her hand in front of her face.

“You smell terrible!” Daenerys chuckled.

“You would too, fighting in this sweltering heat,” Jon retorted. “The battle was a success, as you can see.”

“I was worried sick that something would have gone wrong. It’s a good thing you’re a fast learner or else…”

Jon shook his head. “No need to get too cocky now, my love. We still have long days ahead of us. Still…it felt good, to be back into battle.”

Daenerys inclined her head. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why the name Jaemon?”

Jon chuckled and tapped the pommel of his sword. “Well…I’m sure there aren’t a lot of ‘ _Jon’s’_ out there. And I wanted to pay respect to my mentors: Jeor Mormont and Maester Aemon.”

Daenerys lowered her eyes. “I wish I could have met him.”

Jon rubbed her belly. “Perhaps, if it’s a boy, we can name the child after him?”

Daenerys nodded, smiling. “I like that idea…”

Daenerys and he walked into their main tent, ignoring the camp being broken down. Now that Astapor was theirs, they could move into it and set up a base for their next attack. As they say down and chilled water was brought to Daenerys, she looked to Missandei.

“Missandei?”

Missandei turned to face her Queen. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“It takes a good rider about six days to travel from Astapor to Yunkai, and then another six days from Yunkai to Meereen, am I right?” Daenerys asked.

Missandei nodded. “You are correct, Your Grace. However, since we have an army, then it will take us about a month to reach Meereen, rather than a fortnight. But they’ll know about us, and be preparing their defenses.”

Daenerys smirked, her hand going to her belly as she felt her child move. “Good. Let them know. Let them fear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I know it's been a couple of days since I've uploaded, and I'm so sorry! I hope this chapter makes up for it! Now, a short breakdown of what's happened so far!
> 
> So, Sansa's finally had to tell the truth of where Jon is. Of course, she couldn't hide it FOREVER! But she's still lying, in claiming that Jon went out of her command, and not out of his free will as he did. Jon went to be with Dany and their child.
> 
> Jon's growing more and more confident, and to ask Dany to take over the command was a big step. Of course, he's still nervous about ruling/leading men, but they both have points here. Dany has a habit of sometimes letting her pride and temper getting the best of her, while Jon normally keeps to themselves. They can help balance each other out.
> 
> BIG THING HERE, what did you think of Jon changing his name? He's going to begin calling himself 'Jaemon Targaryen', as a combination of Jeor & Aemon.
> 
> The assault on Astapor was fun to write! I know it's a bit confusing, but the main reason Jon knew all that he did, (and spoke the way he did) was because of Dany. She no doubt told/taught him about the Great Slave Cities, and like her, Jon hates slavery. 
> 
> BTW: Dany's like 6-7 moth, so she's getting ready to drop soon! Considering typing out the birth chapter, or not... tell me if you guys want to know the names/genders of the baby and/or babies, before the short time jump, or after. I haven't settled yet how many babies she's going to have, or the genders, but I'd love your ideas!
> 
> P.S. If you're an ATTACK ON TITAN fan, I've started an AOT FanFic (link on my bio) called THE FIRST ARCH that I hope you'll like! I won't give away spoilers, but it's going to be a little bit more mature (if possible lol) than the Anime, plus some characters are aged up or down for... reasons.... and features a black OC.


	24. XXIV. Blood of the Dragon Pt. 2

Sweat beaded on Jon’s brow as the burning sun beat down upon him.

_‘By the gods am I happy that I listened to Dany in not wearing my Northern clothes,’_ Jon thought. _‘I would have died from the heat.’_

Thinking of his beloved made the former Northman glance behind him, at the elaborate palanquin. The palanquins of Essos were nothing like the massive wheelhouses that the Westerosi nobility rode in. These palanquins were lighter, smaller, and meant to only carry a max of four people inside. The wheelhouses of Essos were enormous, with the largest one Jon had ever seen belonging to Cersei Lannister.

The palanquin behind Jon was made of black wood, ivory, gold, and decorated with blood-red rubies. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen snarled on both sides of the door, with a trio of large horses pulling the front.

“I wish you would ride in the palanquin,” Jon said, turning to Daenerys. “You really shouldn’t be on the back of a horse; something could happen to you.”

Daenerys shook her head. “The Dothraki follow strength, Jon. The only people who do not ride are the elderly, young children, or nursing mothers.”

Jon frowns. “I’ve always been meaning to ask you…how do they see me? The Dothraki.”

Daenerys inclined her head. “What do you mean?”

“I know they respect and value you, because of your dragons and strength,” Jon said. “But when it comes to me…they pretend that I don’t exist.”

Daenerys covered her mouth. “Oh…that. Well, they don’t exactly have an opinion of you.”

“What?”

“They know you, know my relationship with you, but…don’t exactly care about you.”

Jon frowns deeper. “Well…that’s not good. How am I supposed to know if they respect me or not?”

“Respect is earned, Jon, here, not just seized. And with the Dothraki…earning respect comes at the tip of a sword blade.”

Jon nodded, letting this information wash over them.

Behind the Targaryen forces, the bodies of the Great Masters lined the walls of a liberated Yunkai. Smoke from their burnt down manses filled the sky, and discarded shackles of their liberated slaves littered the ground.

Daenerys and Jon were clear in their commands: the Great Masters had to die. Any children born to slave masters under the age of twelve were to be unharmed, but the rest were put to the sword.

First Astapor was liberated. Then, Yunaki. All that remained was the crown jewel: Meereen.

After two weeks of marching, the army came to stop upon a massive hill. In the distance, Daenerys could see it, a small dump that was the Great Pyramid of Meereen. Her hand went to her belly, feeling the baby within her move and shift.

_‘I’m finally back,’_ Daenerys thought. _‘I’m finally back home.’_

Daenerys knew that word had reached Meereen by now of her arrival, which meant the Great Masters within were prepared for them. There was no way that Jon was going to let her go into this fight. But that meant he was going to have to take control of the Dothraki and Unsullied, the former of whom didn’t believe or respect her lover.

It was clear that Jon had this realization as well because he was nervously pacing the floor of their tent. He was trying to work himself up to go and confront the Dothraki.

_‘Might as well and get it over with,’_ Jon told himself, taking a shaky breath. _‘It’s going to get hard and bloody, but it needs to be done.’_

Grabbing his sword, Jon walked to the Dothraki camp, forcing himself to hold his head tall.

_‘I am Jaemon Targaryen…’_ Jon told himself. _‘I am Jaemon Targaryen…’_

The Dothraki camp was unlike any camp that Jon had been in before. It was unkempt, compared to what Jon was used to. Warriors sharpened their swords or traded weapons, others freely… ‘cavorted’ with their women like the animals in the field.

Jon had never done that position with Daenerys before, and couldn’t help but wonder if it was something she might like. Of course, such things could only be done once their child was born. Everyday Daenerys’s belly grew, and every day the danger of her losing their child went by.

Jon forced himself to tear his eyes from the couples and walked to the center of the camp, where he knew their leader receded. It was a woman named Asheffi, Jon recalled, a large Dothraki woman who was as fierce as the men around her. This Asheffi sat among a small circle of other Dothraki, laughing and talking among themselves, before falling silent as Jon stepped forward.

Asheffi inclined her head, looking him up and down. “Ice Dog…” she said.

Jon sighed. From what Daenerys told him, the Dothraki did not have a word for ‘snow’ or ‘wolf’, so, they called him an ‘icy dog’. This was an insult, he believed because the dogs here were not treasured like they were back in Winterfell.

“Jaemon,” Jon retorted. “You can call me Jaemon.”

Asheffi tossed back her head, laughing, the men around her doing the same. Instantly, Jon knew he had messed up. He was trying to be overly familiar with them. These Dothraki didn’t call Daenerys by her name, she was their Great Khaleesi, their queen, their chosen one.

“I…I mean…” Jon stammered.

“What…you want…Ice Dog?” Asheffi asked, laying her sword across her lap. “You desire me…in tent? Khaleesi look to share?”

Jon’s cheeks flushed red, causing the Dothraki to all burst out laughing once again. ‘This is not going how it should…’

“No,” Jon said quickly. “She does not…want to ‘share me’. I have come…to see if we can talk.”

“Talk?” Asheffi repeated.

Jon nodded. “Yes, talk.”

The Dothraki all around Jon burst out laughing. One looked to Asheffi and said, “This man’s cock is the size of a rat. How he satisfies our Khaleesi is beyond me. She needs a real man in her tent.”

Jon’s eyes flashed steel grey. “I can assure you, my cock pleases her just well.”

The Dothraki all fell silent.

That was the first time they had ever heard him speak their language. Daenerys had commanded them all to learn the basics of Common Tongue, but they had no idea that Jon understood them.

Jon lifted his chin. “I am trying to be nice, and talk to you about the battle soon. But you’d rather sit around the fire and gossip like milkwomen.”

Asheffi smirked and sat back in her chair. She flicked her hand in Jon’s direction, the meaning clear.

The Dothraki men all rose to their feet, drawing their swords.

_‘Respect for the Dothraki comes at the tip of a sword, my love,’_ Daenerys had told him. _‘Not by words alone.’_

Jon knew what he had to do.

Drawing his sword, Jon spread his legs in a fighting stance, his eyes narrowed. “Come on then.”

The first Dothraki swung his curved sword in a wide arch, aiming to disembowel him. Jon side-stepped and twisted around, smacking him with the back of his sword. The second Dothraki lunged mere seconds later, but Jon parried and grabbed the dagger at his waist.

He raised the dagger to block the third Dothraki’s strike, then crossed his arms and spun around. This caused both men to fall face-first into each other, and Jon kicked them to the ground for good measure.

Acting quickly, Jon lunged forward, but not at the three Dothraki men, but at Asheffi. Before the woman could rise to her feet, Jon pointed his sword at her throat, the tip scraping the tender skin.

“I did not come here to fight,” Jon said in Dothraki. “I came here to speak to you, to earn your respect. By your rules, as the partner of your Khaleesi that makes me your Khal, but I do not want to be forced upon you. I ask for understanding, for respect, and for a chance to prove myself to you.”

Asheffi swallowed slowly. Her dark-brown eyes shifted to her fellow Dothraki who was frozen. A single word from her, and they could stab this man in the back. But, Asheffi had to admit, he had drive, he had the spirit of a Khal, and was a worthy mount for their Khaleesi.

“Blood of my blood,” Asheffi said, holding out her hand.

Jon slowly lowered his sword and clasped her arm. “Blood of my blood.”

When Jon returned to his tent, he found Daenerys getting ready for bed, helped by Missandei.

“There you are,” Daenerys said, rising out of her bathing tub. “I was wondering where you went.”

“I went to talk to the Dothraki,” Jon replied, his eyes roaming over her naked form. _‘A goddess among men…’_

Missandei handed Daenerys a robe to wrap around herself. “Oh? And what happened?”

“I believe we’ve finally grasped an understanding,” Jon explained. “I walked to Grey Worm before I came, and he says we’re about a fortnight away from Meereen.”

Daenerys nodded. “Thank you Missandei, you can leave now.”

Missandei bowed her head respectfully. “Good night, Your Graces.”

Daenerys then turned to Jon. “I’m glad you’re gaining the respect of the other soldiers. While you were doing that, I sent Varys on a little trip.”

“A trip? A trip to where?” Jon asked.

“Braavos,” Daenerys replied. “When word reaches all of Essos of what we’ve done, I have a feeling the Iron Bank is going to try and press their case to be our supporter.”

Jon nodded and sat down in a chair, Ghost settling at his feet. “I believe Ser Davos said something about them having a hand in all the pots, a while ago. Thus, why they funded Lord Stannis.”

“We are going to have to keep them on a tight leash,” Daenerys said. “Borrow just enough for a business relationship, but pay it back with interest when need be. We can not afford to be another Westeros.”

“My love, push such things from your mind,” Jon pleaded. “Stress…”

“Is not good for the baby,” Daenerys finished, chuckling. “I know, I know. You are echoing Missandei.”

Jon smiled and walked to her. Cupping Daenerys’s chin, he lifted it and pressed his lips to hers. He could taste her favorite drink of fruit water on her tongue, as Daenerys had never liked wine, beer, or ale.

Daenerys softly moaned as Jon wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. “Curse my belly…” she sighed.

Jon stiffened. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry, you know I jest,” Daenerys sighed. “But it’s preventing me from getting what I want…”

Sex between the two had been nonexistent since Daenerys reached her 6th month. Her belly was abnormally large, and Jon refused to risk hurting her. When they made love, a beast came over him, the soft gentle side leaving his body and in its place was a ravenous and passionate lover.

“Just a little while longer,” Jon swore, looking into her violet eyes. “And then, after a short rest, I will be in your arms again.”

Daenerys sighed but nodded. “Soon we’ll be in Meereen, and we will change the world together. You’ll be the most powerful man in the world, my love.”

“The world can fuck itself in the arse,” Jon scoffed, yet tenderly cupped her face. “All I want is you, and a healthy child. The rest is secondary to me.”

* * *

Krozlir na Nuaz had waded through too much blood to become the High Harpy to be stopped now. When the Dragon Bitch left, his family immediately seized command of Meereen, and he even killed his father to seize control. Krozlir was not going to lose it now.

His hazel-green eyes stood among the battlements of the city, watching as the soldiers of the city lined it with boiling oil and stocked their arrows.

However, it was the army in front of the city walls that held his attention. Lined up in uniform rows stood the Unsullied, and behind them on horseback were the Dothraki.

Krozlir scanned the lines for a silver head, for the bitch who called herself ‘Queen of Meereen’ but he didn’t see her.

Word had swiftly reached Meereen of the fates of Astapor, and then Yunkai. On how this Valyrian Bitch killed all the slave masters and laid waste to the city, freeing the slaves and then moving on. It took about a month for them to reach Meereen, and now they were here.

Then, Krozlir saw someone, one of the Unsullied walked beside the horse of a brown-skinned woman. She didn’t wear any armor, yet seemed unafraid.

“We speak for Her Grace, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen,” the Brown Skinned woman said loudly. “Open your gates and surrender Meereen to us, and you will be spared. If not, then the whole city will be sacked!”

Krozlir’s lips curved into a smirk as he burst out laughing, tossing his head back.

Who did this woman think she was? The walls of Meereen were thick and wide. It would take a team of elephants to pull down the wooden doors, and then it might not break. Not only that but Krozlir remembered the trick this Daenerys used the last time to get in Meereen. The sewer systems were plugged up, so there was no way in or out.

“Tell your Whore of a Queen that we do not fear her!” Krozlir bellowed.

The Brown-skinned woman smirked. “It is not her; you need to fear right now.”

She turned her horse around and galloped away, silence falling upon both armies. Suddenly a loud shriek filled the air.

Krozlir raised his head to the skies at the sound but didn’t see the source.

At first.

Two large shapes were moving in front of the sun, then it seemingly flew into the sun. Frowning, Krozlir covered his eyes with his hands to try and get a better look, only too late did he realize his mistake.

It was a dragon. No, it was two dragons.

Jaemon held onto the scales of Rhaegal’s neck, yet held a whip with his free hand. Unfurling it, he cracked it hard against Rhaegal’s side, although he knew such a thing wouldn’t hurt the creature. His scales were thick, and the crack of the whip would be nothing more than a slight nudge to him.

Rhaegal obeyed the signal and tucked in his wings, dipping his body down, and began to dive.

At his side, Drogon copied his brother’s movements, the two of them falling like eagles diving for prey. Jaemon pressed himself against Rhaegal’s back so the wind couldn’t string his eyes, and just as they reached the appropriate height, he gave the order.

“Dracarys!”

Flames erupted from the mouths of Rhaegal and Drogon. The great gate of Meereen exploded into a thousand pieces, and the stone on the sides melted like wax against the boiling hot flames.

At the sight of the dragons, Krozlir tried to run but it was too late.

The back of his body caught the lasting effects of the fire blast, but it still enough forces to send the Son of the Harpy flying. Falling tens of thousands of feet on the sandy below, every bone in Krozlir na Nuaz’s body was instantly broken.

As the darkness closed in on the man, the last thing he saw was the Unsullied marching into Meereen, followed by herds of Dothraki.

Just like with the Sacking of Astapor and Yunkai, the Unsullied and Dothraki knew their orders. All the slave masters, no matter their gender, were to die. Only the children were to be unharmed, as well as all slaves.

When the smoke had cleared and all the dead slave masters were gathered for burning, Daenerys appeared alongside Missandei. The slaves within Meereen recognized her instantly, and all began to shout and cheer, declaring her once again their _Myhsa_.

“Today is a new era in Slaver’s Bay,” Daenerys declared, standing before the assembled crow of Meereenese. “Once again those in shackles have been freed, and this time I plan for them to stay that way. I swear to you, that I will never leave Essos again.

“Slaver’s Bay will no longer be called that, but instead, it shall take a new name: The Bay of Dragons. Together we will work to rebuild these three Great Cities into a beacon of hope and renewal. A Queen serves her people, and I shall serve you now from this day, until my last day!”

“ _Myhsa_!” the crowd chanted, their roars deafening. “ _Myhsa! Myhsa! Myhsa_!”

Daenerys held out her hand and Jaemon stepped forward, taking it. “It is because of this man that I am here today, and I proud to say that I have found my king among men. I present to you, Jaemon Targaryen, who I will be humbled to call my husband soon. But first, we have work to do.”

Jaemon nodded and pulled Daenerys close, resting his hand on her stomach, where the hope for their dynasty lay.

They walked to the Great Pyramid and Daenerys took his hand, the two staring up as the massive structure.

“Shall we begin?” Daenerys asked.

* * *

Slowly, they began to rebuild.

The first thing they did was to move into the Great Pyramid, a structure that Jon found to be extremely fascinating. He had never been, in such a structure before, and begged for Daenerys to take him to every room one day.

Daenerys of course agreed.

It felt good to be back in the Pyramid, back in the seat of power. The dragons didn’t burn down anything that couldn’t be fixed, so that meant construction wasn’t going to be needed much.

However, before Daenerys and Jon could rule, they came upon a problem.

Meereen, Yunaki, and Astapor were all massive cities, all with diverse, yet similar, cultures. They also had great distance between them, each requiring almost a fortnight and a half to travel to each city.

“I do not trust leaving the cities to themselves again,” Daenerys told Jon. “We need representatives in all three cities, people we can trust.”

“Or maybe people elected by the people,” Jon suggested.

Daenerys milled this over. “That’s not a bad idea…”

However, plans on the governing of the Great Cities were going to have to come later.

One night, Daenerys woke in a fierce, sticky sweat. Jon took one look at her and leaped from the bed, shouting for Missandei. The Naathi rushed inside the bedchamber and yanked back the covers, finding the sheets beneath it wet.

“Your Grace, it’s time!” Missandei exclaimed.

Daenerys panted, a twisting and sharp pain constricting in her belly.

A small group of Essosi handmaidens helped Daenerys up, while Jon was shoved out. No men were allowed in the birthing room.

Jon paced the floor with Tyrion and Jorah waiting outside with him, all three listening to the cries of Daenerys’s labor.

“Congratulations, Snow,” Tyrion said, gulping down a goblet of wine. “You’re going to be a father soon.”

“How do you feel?” Jorah asked.

“Terrified,” Jon muttered, still pacing. “I mean…what if it doesn’t like me? What if Dany dies? I cannot rule this place by myself. I’ll be a terrible father, I know it.”

Tyrion hiccupped. “Something tells me you’re going to need this wine more than me.”

“Enough,” Jorah scolded him. “Listen, Jon, fatherhood is going to be scary. But it’s also going to be an amazing thing.”

“How do you know, Mormont?” Tyrion asked.

Jorah frowned. “I might not be a father myself, but I know this: a child is shaped by the world around it. If you love this child, even if Her Grace dies, then it will recuperate those feelings.”

Jon ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He couldn’t believe this…he didn’t want to believe this.

_‘Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?!’_ Jon internally raged. _‘I traveled half-way across the world for this, to be with Dany. I did it because I loved her. Our child is a union of that love. But damn, why do I still feel so…?’_

A loud shriek from Daenerys made Jon almost jump out of his skin. He ran to the door, ready to beat it down, but froze by the second sound he heard.

Soft mewing.

No…no it wasn’t mewing…it was the cries of a newborn.

The doors flew open and a flushed-faced Missandei burst in. “A girl!” she exclaimed. “Her Grace has given birth to a girl!”

“You have a daughter!” Jorah shouted, clapping Jon on his back.

Jon’s body felt like it was on fire. “I…I have a daughter…” he whispered, trembling. “I have a…”

“Your Grace, please, push!” a handmaiden called within.

Jon blinked, looking to Missandei. “What’s going on?”

Missandei didn’t answer and instead ducked back into the room. Daenerys’s cries of pain grew louder and louder, Jon banged on the door with his first, demanding answers. As Daenerys cried out one last time, the second cry of a newborn swiftly filled the air.

_‘Twins…’_ Jon thought in shock. _‘We have…’_

Missandei opened the doors moments later and motioned for him to come inside. Jon’s legs moved by themselves, walking slowly into the room, his eyes taking in the scene before him.

A tired Daenerys lay on a bed, the handmaidens working to clean her up. However, Jon’s gaze was drawn to the two small bundles that lay in a bassinet nearby. He walked to it, peering inside.

Two pairs of eyes stared up at him, one bright lilac, the other steely grey. The first baby, his daughter, possessed his coloring, yet Jon could see whisps of silver hair on her head. For his son, he had Daenerys’s coloring, but dark hair was on his head, and he was already falling asleep.

“What will we name them?” Daenerys asked.

Jon looked down at the faces of his children. He picked up his daughter first. “What was the name, of the first true Targaryen Queen, again? Her father shared the name of your brother.”

“Rhaenyra?” Daenerys asked.

Jon nodded. “Yes…I can think of nothing better than for the next Queen of Meereen. Welcome into the world, Princess Rhaenyra.”

Little Rhaenyra sniffed, her nose twitching as she gazed up at him with bright lilac eyes.

“If she is to be named Rhaenyra…” Daenerys said, thinking it over. “Then, our son should be named Aemon.”

Jon’s heart melted. “You…you think so? Not Aegon?”

Daenerys shook her head. “No, remember what you said? You wanted your first son to be named Aemon.”

Jon looked to his son, sleeping peacefully within his cradle. “Aemon Targaryen…I can think of no better name.”

As word began to spread within the pyramid, something was rumbling in a cave, in one of the Meereense mountains. Drogon grunted and groaned, the massive creature twisted and arched its back, panting. Tightening its body, it pushed with all its might, and with a soft grunt, pushed out a small egg to join the other six in its clutch.

Dragon eggs.

The black and red she-dragon slowly turned around and nuzzled the egg into place, purring in content. Outside of the cave, Rhaegal listened to the sound of its mate, delivering the last egg into the world. Throwing his head back, Rhaegal roared with all his worth, flapping his wings and filling the air with song, the song of dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I'm sorry that I've been away, but new chapter! So, let's break it down! Jon's got the Dothraki respect! I always thought it weird in the TV show they never touched on the Dothraki believing Jon as 'unworthy' for their Khaleesi, so this is a little touch on that. I know the Meereen capture was kind of short, but I hope you guys liked it.
> 
> THE BABIES ARE HERE!!
> 
> That's right, Dany and Jon have TWINS, as twins run in the Targaryen bloodline, and I thought it a good medium as I couldn't decide between them having a girl or boy first.
> 
> DROGON LAID EGGS!!
> 
> GRRM states that the dragons ate genderlessly, and can even change genders, so in this FF, DROGON is the one who's female (or at least female-presenting).
> 
> Next chapter has the time jump, although I'm not sure how far it would be. I can't decide between 2, 3, or 5 years...as each would be good...what do you guys think? How far in the head would I jump and why? Also, tell me what you guys thought of the chapter!
> 
> TTYL!
> 
> P.S. I hope you guys counted how many eggs Drogon laid... a hint of things to come? hehehehe, maybe!


	25. XXV. Hatchlings

The cry of a newborn tore through the night, waking all who were on the upper level of the Great Pyramid.

In their bedchamber, a red-eyed Jon and Daenerys forced themselves to sit up.

“Who is it this time?” Jon groaned, rubbing his face.

“It sounds like Rhae,” Daenerys yawned.

“Why can she never be like her brother, and just sleep through the night?” Jon sighed.

It had been two weeks since the Twins were born, and Jon and Daenerys were having a difficult time, adjusting. While the thought of children was quite prevalent in their minds, it quickly became apparent that the two had no idea what they were doing.

Daenerys grew up on the run with her brother. And when she was with Drogo, her baby was murdered in the womb. On top of that, the Dothraki’s way of childbearing wasn’t exactly known to her.

Jon grew up the bastard of a Great Lord, yet was hated by the Lady of Winterfell. Catelyn Stark only made sure that Jon had the bare necessities as a babe, and refused anything other than that.

Now, as two of the most powerful people in the world, Jon and Daenerys had everything they could ever want. Yet, both were completely clueless about raising their children.

“I better go see if she’s hungry,” Daenerys groaned, pushing back her blankets.

“I’ll come with you,” Jon sighed. “Before she wakes her brother.

After Daenerys pulled on her nightrobe, and Jon his shirt, the two walked to the nursey. One thing that they could agree on is that they wished for their children to reside close to them. So, the bedchamber across from their own was converted into a nursery, with everything the Twins would ever need.

The ever-present Ghost sat in front of the two cradles, his paws over his ears as he tried to muffle Rhaenyra’s cries.

“I know boy,” Jon sighed. “I know.”

Inside her cradle, little Rhaenyra kicked and screamed. However, the moment both parents loomed overhead, Rhaenyra stopped, her pink face morphing into one of joy.

“Where is the Wet Nurse?” Jon asked. “She should have been here.”

Daenerys reached into the cradle, picking up her daughter with a huff. “She leaves at night, remember?”

The matter of a wet nurse was one of the first differences in how the two viewed child-rearing.

In Westeros, most noblewomen used Wet Nurses, who viewed the position as one of high honor. From what Daenerys knew, the Khaleesi was supposed to feed her baby.

“She could have been here to prevent Rhae from crying and waking her brother,” Jon argued.

He looked at his son, surprised to see that Aemon was still fast asleep.

“I hardly like her here during the day,” Daenerys shot back, walking to a nearby chair. “The only reason I let you and Missandei talk me into it is that during the day we’re ruling.”

Jon crossed his arms, frowning as he watched Daenerys open her gown to bare her breast. The moment he saw her breast, Jon had to bite his tongue from groaning with desire.

Four months.

That was how long it had been since he last had sex with his beloved.

Jon was not sure how long it was appropriate to wait before making advances toward her. From what Jon knew, the Lords of Westeros might lay with their wives as soon as two weeks after she gave birth. Others might give their Ladies longer.

_‘We’re still not married…’_ Jon thought to himself.

As Rhaenyra latched onto the pink nipple, Jon had to look away.

Daenerys’s breasts had swelled with her pregnancy, and even though her belly was gone, the lush curves remained. She no longer was slender, and delicate looking. Instead, her face glowed with motherhood, her hips were rounded from her pregnancy, giving her a more athletic build that Jon longed to have wrapped around him.

“A Wet Nurse’s job is to oversee her charges,” Jon said, pretending to be interested in a nearby painting. “On top of which, they are nobility, Dany. Shouldn’t they have a household of their own?”

“A what?” Daenerys asked, confused.

“A household,” Jon repeated. “Back in Winterfell, and I’m sure in other noble houses, all children are given their own household. Cooks, maids, servants, tutors, playmates; that kind of thing.”

“But if they have all of that, what’s the point in having parents?” Daenerys asked. “Do Westerosi parents do not love and cherish their children?”

Jon frowned, contemplating her question. “I believe they do. Fa—I mean Eddard Stark did, as did his wife. But I am not sure about how the other members of nobility act.”

Daenerys sighed and rocked Rhaenyra, humming softly under her breath. “Well, I want to be there for every day, every moment of their lives. I lost one child…I will not lose them.”

“I’m not saying you will,” Jon said, trying to comfort her. “But smothering them isn’t the way.”

Daenerys’s face flushed red. “So, you think I’m smothering them?”

Jon didn’t like her sharp tone. “I… I didn’t mean…” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I did not mean that you are smothering them. But you are always here, always flying to their side if they so much as sneeze.”

“Is that not what mothers do?” Daenerys hissed. “Forgive me, if I want to make sure our children know my face. After all, I do not know my own.”

Jon knew he was not going to win this fight, so he threw up his hands in defeat. “I assume you do not want me to stay here, while you nurse Rhae?”

“You assume correct,” Daenerys snapped, turning back to their daughter.

Jon frowned, but turned on his heel and stormed back into their shared chamber.

It did not help that both of them had the temper of a dragon, nor did it help of the wolfblood in Jon’s veins.

“Our children are going to have one hell of tempers themselves,” Jon muttered, climbing into their bed to sleep.

* * *

When the sun rose the following morning, Jon rolled over with a soft groan. His grey eyes looked to Daenerys’s side of the bed, seeing that it was both empty and unmade.

_‘She must have spent the night in the nursery,’_ Jon thought, pushing the blankets aside. _‘I have to go and…’_

The second that Jon rose from the bed, did handmaidens and other Essosi servants appeared out of thin air. The Northman blushed and looked around, not sure what to say.

When Jon left, he only brought Ghost with him, and his favorite black stallion. He didn’t have servants, everyone here worked for Daenerys one way or another. At the same time, Jon was never left alone with these people either, not because he didn’t trust himself, but because Jon was nervous around them.

“I… Um…” Jon stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t…”

Someone clapped their hands, and when Jon looked up, he saw Missandei had entered the room.

Missandei said something to the small army of women, who quickly hurried off, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

“Thank you,” Jon said gratefully. “I… I did not know…”

“Has Her Grace mentioned you forming your own household?” Missandei asked, crossing her arms.

Jon’s face flushed red. “Um… no… not that I know of.”

From what Jon remembered, growing up in Winterfell, was that both Eddard and Catelyn had their separate households. Of course, it integrated from time to time, but it was really separate, more so to Catelyn’s Southern upbringing, and Eddard’s North.

“I wouldn’t know how to go about that if I’m being honest,” Jon confessed. “Everything around here is… is Daenerys’s…”

Missandei arched an eyebrow. “Is that what you think, Your Grace?”

“Is that not how it is?”

“Did you not conquer Meereen and the other Slave Cities together?”

“It was in her name.”

“It was in the name of House Targaryen, and last I checked, you are calling yourself Jaemon Targaryen. While Her Grace was heavily pregnant, you fought for the glory of your House.”

Jon let Missandei’s words wash over him.

“I… I just do not wish to step on anyone's toes…” Jon whispered.

Missandei sighed. “I highly doubt, Her Grace, would object with you wanting to form your own household. I’m sure also, you would want manservants, instead of the women who flock around the Queen?”

Jon quickly nodded. “Yes, yes I would.”

“Then, if you want, I can put the word out through the various servants who work in the pyramid,” Missandei offered. “From what I’ve seen, you made quite the impression among the Dothraki, Unsullied, and the free slaves. Just like the women love to serve Her Grace, I’m sure the men would want to serve you. As long as you know how to run one, a household I mean.”

“I am a quick study,” Jon said. “Now, do you know where Daenerys is?”

“She’s in the nursery,” Missandei replied.

“O-Oh, right,” Jon stammered. “I’ll go join her soon.”

The Northman hurried to the nearby basin and washed his face, before grabbing a loose linen shirt and pulling it over his head. Jon quickly tucked it into his pants, before crossing the hall to where the nursery was.

Sure enough, Daenerys sat in one of the window seats, her eyes upon Rhaenyra and Aemon.

The twins were being cared for by their Wet Nurses, with Aemon being fed while Rhaenyra was being bathed. Daenerys watched them longingly, her fists clenched in her lap. At her set sat Ghost, ever the protector.

“Daenerys?” Jon whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Come with me.”

Daenerys blinked. “But…”

Jon took her hand in his and shook his head against her arguing with him. He leads her some distance away, to one of the terraces, letting them gaze out upon Meereen.

“Jon…” Daenerys began to say, but Jon was too quick.

He silenced her by pressing his lips to hers, cupping her head tenderly in his hand, before Jon slowly pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said. “I’m sorry, for making you upset, with my words last night. You aren’t smothering the Twins, you’re just trying to be there for them.”

Jon sighed and turned away, yet took her hand in his. “You know what’s funny? Both of our mothers died in childbirth, we both had no true mother figure in life…who am I to tell you how to be a mother to our children?”

“At least you had a father,” Daenerys whispered, rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. “All I had was Viserys who wasn’t exactly the best parent figure.”

“You told me he was cruel,” Jon said. “How cruel could he be?”

“He wasn’t always cruel and mean,” Daenerys whispered. “In the beginning, he was nice, my greatest protector, after all, we were the last ‘true Targaryens’. Then, when he had to sell our mother’s crown for food, the light went out of him. He became obsessed with claiming the Iron Throne…if only he knew of the true price.”

“And yet you still named one of your dragons after him. How could you act that way for a man who abused you so terribly?”

“Because he was my brother. Before Drogo killed him, I did all that I could I offered him the dragon eggs, called him ‘My King’. I did not want him to die because I thought he was all that I had in the world in terms of family.”

Jon’s grip on her hand tightened. “And now you have me. You have our children. In the future, perhaps more will join them?”

Daenerys gave him a tiny smile. “More children? Are you already desiring me so soon after childbirth?”

She rolled her shoulders, making her gown slip down, bearing her creamy skin. Jon’s eyes darkened with desire the moment she does it, his mouth going dry.

“I have never stopped desiring you…” he whispered. “If I were not afraid of hurting the babe, I would have lain with you more while you were with child…”

Daenerys smirked and pressed against him, her violet eyes staring into his. “And now?” she breathed.

“And now, it’s taking all of my self-control not to lift you, press you against the wall, and have you,” Jon said bluntly.

Daenerys’s smirk grew wider, the Dragon Queen’s hand slowly sliding down his chest until she reached his breaches. “You burn for me?” she asked.

“Like a never-ending inferno,” Jon swore.

Jon gripped her shoulders, then slowly slid his hands down Daenerys’s body until he cupped her bottom. His large hands gripped the tender flesh in bold handfuls, feeling the heat of her body through the thin gown. Daenerys meanwhile, toyed with the strings of his breeches, tugging them playfully with one hand, yet rubbing the growing bludge with the other one.

Jon growled low, like a wolf, his eyes showing nothing more than primal hunger behind them. Unable to take it anymore, Jon bent his knees to get ready to pick Daenerys up, only for the two to quickly pull away when someone cleared their throat behind them.

Jon’s face was thunderous as he looked up, seeing Missandei. “What?” he barked.

Daenerys tried her best not to laugh at his clear anger at being denied her body. “Yes, Missandei?”

Missandei bowed. “Your Graces, there is someone here, demanding an audience.”

“Petitions don’t begin for another couple of hours,” Daenerys said, arching an eyebrow. “Who is so important that they believe themselves worthy of being above others?”

Missandei glanced to Jon, then turned back to Daenerys. “It’s… Daario Naharis, your Grace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Well, we all knew that Jon and Dany had different views on how to raise children, but tell me, what do you think? And of course little Rhaenyra is the one who's the trouble maker, lol, she lives up to her name! Poor, sweet little Aemon!
> 
> But it looks like Daario is back, and he MUCH to explain about what he's let happen in Meereen, that, and Jon's not gonna be happy when this guy shows up!
> 
> P.S. - Sorry for the short chapter, I know my chapters are normally much, much, MUCH longer than this, but I will admit that I've been struggling to find inspo for the story. What I mean is that I have soooooooooooo many ideas buzzing around in my head, that it's kind of hard to pinpoint where I want the story to go. After I write the next couple of chapters, I'm going to take a short break from the book & will be posting new chapters in about a month or so.
> 
> BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN THAT I'M GOING TO STOP WRITING ASOIAF FANFICTION!! I still have the FanFiction where Dany stays in Westeros and conquers it THE RIGHT WAY, and it's called PACT OF ICE AND FIRE, and I had literally the whole book already plotted out.
> 
> ` [CLICK HERE TO READ THE BOOK SO FAR!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178521) `

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this chapter! I hope that you enjoyed it. If you did, please don't hesitate to leave me a kudos or a comment. To be honest, I prefer comments because I would like to know what you think of the story so far.
> 
> Although my favorite FanFiction series to write is A Song of Ice and Fire related, I am quite a diverse writer having written for other shows/books such as Castlevania, The Boys, Marvel Comics (coming soon!), and more! Interested in reading my other work? Just click on my name, and it'll take you right too it!
> 
> Thank you, and happy reading!


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